


Is It Wrong To Pick Up Girls In a Graveyard?

by indigenousghost



Series: It Must Be Nice Being Normal [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universes, Anger, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Blood and Gore, Companionable Snark, Cosmic Entities, Dean Winchester Deserves Nice Things, Dean Winchester and Feelings, Demons, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Drama, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everybody Knows It but Them, F/M, Feelings, Fighting, Fluff and Smut, Follows Season 13, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Ignoring Feelings, Jealousy, Lost Memories, Masturbation, Other, References to Depression, Romance, Sarcasm, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Snark, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Vampires, What Was I Thinking?, Will have attached playlists, alright buckle up folks, i do not know, this is gonna be a ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-03-26 04:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 113,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13850322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigenousghost/pseuds/indigenousghost
Summary: Some people just can't be normal, no matter how hard they try. Others don't even bother trying. And when I met the Winchesters, and my crazy met their crazy, it was like a match made in heaven. Or hell. Take your pick because both kinda fit.





	1. Something Wicked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vant/gifts).



> This goes out to my best friend, keepingeyesclosed. Thanks for being with me since the early days when I was handwriting fanfiction on looseleaf and passing it to you in class. To everyone, or anyone, else who reads this, prepare for a fucking ride. Lots of love from your friendly neighborhood ghost.

**Chapter 1: Something Wicked**

 

So, like, no big deal. And this is just me throwing this out there. But I have no idea who I am or where I am or what the hell I’m doing. So there’s that. Yay.

 

The room seems endless, in shades of black, gray, and metallic steel. Like a ceaseless monochrome library. Each aisle is labeled with a letter, each shelf filled with thin black books that look exactly alike. I’ve thought about touching them, but some base instinct warns me not to, like it would be the end of me. And, gee, wouldn’t want that. I nearly snort into the suffocating silence, but swallow the sound. Another one of those oh-so-helpful instincts tells me to make as little noise as possible.

 

Sometimes, when the cloud cover over my mind lightens a little, I wonder when it will end, why I’m here, things like that. Things I should know, but for some reason don’t. I learned not to linger on the thoughts though. I learned that the hard way. Linger too long, suffer the consequences, in the form splitting headaches, weak body, and severe shortness of breath. Just what everyone fucking needs. Hitting stores near you when you try to remember who you are! God, I’m hilarious.

 

Part of me wonders if maybe I’m dead. This could be the waiting place between life and the afterlife. Maybe I’m waiting for someone to collect me or judge my sins or whatever. That begs the question what asshole decided to take the day off and leave me here to my devices. They should be fired for incompetence, but I guess that’s not up to me.

 

I could have been here for days, weeks, when I stumble across the desk, just past the W’s section. It’s empty. And a little part of me sighs in relief. Whatever lives here, works here, whatever it is, gives me the heebie jeebies. It doesn’t help that I have the distinct feeling that someone is watching me. Maybe they’ve been watching me since the beginning. A chill rolls down my spine at the thought.

 

“You don’t belong here, do you, girl?” a rich female voice, that is both cold and sweet echoes into the room, filling the deep stretching silence. Oh, I do not, I repeat, do not, like the sound of that.

 

My feet almost keep moving, so used to the mindless walking, but I force them to stop, and almost trip at the sudden halt. But I do stop, and steady myself. Taking a deep breath and telling myself ‘Don’t fucking cry. Don’t fucking cry,’ I wheel around to face her.

 

Rich satiny umber skin, crimson lips, passionless calculated ebony eyes, and shiny black curls that reach her chin. She’s dressed in a fine suit. A large peculiar white ring sits on her finger and her arms rest boredly at her sides, almost like I’m a fly she’s been forced to deal with. She scans me head to toe.

 

Okay, to be honest, I’m not all that impressive. Tall for a girl, long curly copper hair, pale creamy skin, olive green eyes, and delicate features. Again, no big deal here, but every molecule of my body is screaming for me to get the hell away. Out. Out. Out.

 

“How did you end up here, girl?” she asks. Her voice sounds like she couldn’t care less, but there’s something else. An undercurrent of … desperation maybe.

 

“Trust me, Lady, if I could tell you, I would,” I say, cracking a smile, “Seeing as to how I have no recollection of how I ended up here, alas, I cannot."

 

“I find it difficult to believe you conveniently forgot how you ended up in my reading room,” her drips skepticism. Which just makes me wanna roll my eyes and say, ‘I get it. You don’t believe me. Huzzah for you … bitch,’ but I hold my tongue.

 

Instead, I say, “I barely have a concept of who I am, let alone how I got here.”

 

“Do you?” she lunges forward, and before I realize, she has one arm wrapped around me, the other silky smooth palm is pressed against my forehead.

 

There are no words that exist to describe the agony that swept through me, paralyzing me in place with a blinding darkness. I’m dimly aware of someone screaming, a long shriek of sheer desperation, and it occurred to me it might be the both of us. An image, just one, flashes before my eyes. A pair of endless depthless blue eyes. And a voice that resonates with power and sounds all at once ancient and young, silky and haggard, strong and soft says just one word. Daughter. Something ancient, something powerful has it’s beady little eye trained on us. Just as my spine feels like it’s about to shatter, the power that seized us seems to leave as quickly as it hit. We clatter to the floor, heaving. On teetering legs, I push myself to stand. The woman does the same.

 

“What are you?” she asks, her voice an odd mix of unyielding rage and breathless awe.

 

“I’m-I’m just a girl,” I stumble. The fog over my mind slips up, for just a second, but long enough for two words to slip through, “My name is Elvira Castle. I – I really don’t know who I am or how I got here though.”

 

“Well, Elvira Castle,” she says, her voice a dark force of nature, reminiscent of a brewing typhoon, or a raging forest fire, “Since I can’t touch you, let’s just leave you to fate. But I will be watching you.” She presses two fingers to my forehead.

 

I feel nothing, an odd sense of weightlessness, then I see dark trees and headstones. The sky above is pitch. I hold back a scream. I hate cemeteries. Terror grips me. Alone. In a cemetery. Alone! In a cemetary! I resist the urge to scream. Something about being around the dead unnerves me, more than unnerves me, sends me running in the opposite direction. And here I am, surrounded by them.

 

“Alright, Sammy,” a gruff male voice with the slightest twang says, “Let’s light ‘er up. Goodbye Madame Landon.”

 

I hear the scrape of a match being struck and not twenty feet from me a little light flares up. The match, a full book of matches really, falls into a hole and huge flames leap up. It illuminates the speaker, who’s with another guy. I don’t feel so good. My stomach rolls unpleasantly, and a headache stabs my head. I lean heavily against the nearest tree. Great, just what I need. The world spins and I slide just a little.

 

Two men fill in my swimming vision. I may be tall, but these two fuckers are downright massive. The taller of the two has long dark hair, deep coffee brown eyes, and a somber mouth. The shorter (and prettier one, in my opinion) has short dark blond hair (almost brown really), eyes so green they’re like forests, and a full almost-feminine mouth. I stumble towards the shorter one as my vision dims. They glance at each other in tandem before looking back at me.

 

The world slides unpleasantly as I fall into the arms of the shorter guy. He grunts as he catches me. He smells like whisky, and gunpowder, and leather, and his own masculine musk. My stomach heaves and it takes everything in me not to spew chunks all over his navy jacket. It’s not a bad smell, just a strong one, one I’m not used to.

 

“Help me,” it slips from my mouth before I can stop it.

 

Then I slide into unconsciousness and hope I didn’t stumble into some weird freaky sex cult. Although, with the way those guys looked, that may not be such a bad thing.

 

 


	2. It’s Actually Kind of a Gray Area To Pick Up Girls In a Graveyard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALright, so here's the dealio. I've got like the first seven or eight chapters of this written already. So what's gonna happen is I'm gonna post one chapter every day for a week and then switch to posting probably once a week. Also, if I create attached playlists on youtube, is that like, actually of interest to you guys? Lemme know. Also, commenting really helps fuel my creative process. I like hearing from people. Comments, kudos, etc are all hella appreciated. Lots of love, your friendly neighborhood ghost.

**Chapter 2: It’s Actually Kind of a Gray Area To Pick Up Girls In a Graveyard**

 

A groan rolls from my lips. I hear the clatter of people bumbling around, and masculine voices. Everything is muffled and distant though, like I’m under several feet of water. My eyes snap open and I toss and turn wildly, trying to get a grip on my surroundings. Where the fuck am I? I open my mouth, trying to say something to the incoherent voices, but all that comes out is a loud groan. Great! First my memory, now my means of communication. Just fucking peachy. Not to mention the wicked dry mouth and throat. It feels like someone stuffed a cup of pure cinnamon down my throat.

 

“Hey hey hey,” the dark haired man from the graveyard rushes to my side, “Don’t try and move.”

 

All that leaves my mouth is a groan. God, this is gonna get annoying real quick. Water, I need water. The man wraps his arms around my torso and helps slide me into a semi-upright position. Better. The thick distant feeling over my senses abates a little.

 

Enough that I can croak out, “Wa-ter.”

 

“Dean,” the dark haired one orders, “Get some water.”

 

My eyes follow the direction he started talking. The shorter guy, Dean, gives the dark haired one a clearly unhappy look before pushing himself off the wall he was leaning against and stalking away. God, what bug is up his ass? I shift my attention back to the one who’s actually being helpful.

 

“What’s your name?” the dark haired one asks. His face is oddly gentle, like he’s used to this sort of thing, picking up girls in graveyards.

 

“Wa-ter,” I croak out again. So he knows I’m not really in a position to answer his questions and I’m not just being a bitch.

 

“Of course,” he says, “I’m Sam. That was my brother, Dean.”

 

There are so many questions I have and all of them will have to wait. Plus, it just seems like a bad idea to bombard these guys with questions. I’m not sure I really want all the answers I’m asking for. Dean stalks back into the room, clearly shooting me a filthy look as he hands Sam a big glass of water before taking up his position leaning against the wall. What a fucking dog. He’s acting like some macho guard dog with his muscular arms crossed over his chest, eyeing me with obvious distrust.

 

Sam raises the glass of water to my lips. I want to take the glass and swat his hands away, but this is probably best. I don’t know how my muscles would handle it. I’d probably dump the glass on myself. That would be just my fucking luck. I gulp down the glass of water in seconds.

 

“My name is Elvira Castle,” I say, my voice still hoarse. Though it’s distinguishable now.

 

“Who are you?’ Dean growls. What a brooding mess. There’s something about him though, maybe it’s the dead look to his eyes, the look of someone so lost, so broken, there’s no hope of ever being healed. It pulls at my heartstrings. That doesn’t give him the right to be an ass though.

 

My head whips to face him, “I just fucking told you, jackass.”

 

“I think, well, what he meant was what were you doing in the graveyard?” Sam asks, his voice gentle. “We just want to know what happened.”

 

I look back at Sam, “I – I don’t know. I was – well, it was like a massive filing cabinet that went on forever. Then I met this woman. Dark hair, dark skin. She had this weird white ring on her finger. And she touched me. And …” I trail off as those endless eyes flash before me and that voice reverberates in my mind, paralyzing me … daughter. The whatever-it-was leaves in an instant and I stammer out, “I – something happened. Then she said she was going to leave me to fate. She touched my forehead. And all of a sudden I was in the graveyard. Speaking of which …do you guys just do that?”

 

Sam looks confused, “Do what?”

 

“Pick up random girls in graveyards?” I ask, “I mean, isn’t that a little … dubious?”

 

“Not usually,” Sam says with a little smile, “And it’s actually kind of a grey area.”

 

Dean ignores our little exchange and jumps in, “You met Death?”

 

Okay … how high are these two? Or insane. Insane seems like a viable option. Dean seems a little unhinged. They talk about death like it’s some animate conscious thing. I look between the two brothers, trying to catch a hint of a laugh, or the twitch of facial muscle, anything to tell me they’re screwing with me. Please, let them be screwing with me. Something tells me these two are serious as a heart attack.

 

“Uh … what are you talking about?” I say, and try as I might to keep it steady and firm, my voice quakes a bit.

 

“Capital D, Death,” Dean growls out, “Big Mama Grim Reaper. That’s who that woman was.”

 

I look at him and say dryly, “Clearly you’re not mentally stable.”

 

Dean shrugs, “Okay, don’t believe us. It’s your ass on the line.”

 

I push myself out of Sam’s arms and onto rickety legs. The dark-haired brother shoots to his feet, prepared to catch me if need be. But I’m angry now. I stalk over towards Dean – well, in my head I stalk, what I actually do is probably a lot more like stumbling – until I’m almost chest to chest with him. He doesn’t move an inch or even bat an eyelash. That only infuriates me more, cocky stuck-up son of bitch.

 

“You sir,” I bite out right into his face, “Are a grade-A, asshole.”

 

He leans forward until we’re almost nose to nose, “Right back at ya, sweetheart.”

 

I whirl to face Sam, “I’m hungry. Do you have any food in this God forsaken place?” Anything to get away from Dean and his salty ass attitude.

 

Sam frowns, “Not right now. We actually need to do a supply run. Dean and I will go get food, and you can wait here.”

 

There’s a special tick in Dean’s jaw that tells me he’s not thrilled to leave me wherever here is. And I, for my part, get a special kind of satisfaction out of that. I have a feeling that pissing him off is going to be a new favorite pastime of mine. That is, if they let me stay. For some reason the idea of them turning me loose, alone, with no idea who I am, or what to do, makes my pulse race. My breathing starts to quicken as I watch the two men exit the room. They’re gone before I can say or do anything. I drop onto the bed. A wave of emotions washes over me. I feel helpless and lost. It hits me like sucker-punch to the gut how little control I have over my life right now.

 

Slowly, I heave myself off the bed, determined not to waste into my own fears. I decide to explore this place. The bedroom is sparse with only a desk, a dresser, and a bed made up with military green blankets and pillows. There are two old guns, classic pistols that hang on the wall behind the bed. The floor is wooden, probably oak or something, very worn and cold beneath my feet. One of the brothers, probably Sam because God knows Dean wouldn’t help, took off my socks and shoes. They now sit neatly beside the door.

 

I leave the room. I decide this is an abandoned military building, as I peek around in rooms. Everything is sparse, sharp, and utterly utilitarian. Weapons of varying degrees hang from the walls. When I reach the huge main room, I realize my guess is utterly correct. At the end of the room, or rather the beginning, there’s a staircase leading to a platform with two tea chair and a table, and on the other side of the platform a big metal door. Somehow, I know that the door leads outside. There’s a large table in the middle of the room inlaid with a light up map of the world. On the wall there’s a bigger, more detailed map of America, set with all sorts of pins and pictures. Not to mention the cold-war era computers set into the walls beneath the America map, and against the opposite wall.

 

Spread open on the table are old books. I lean over them. There’s some shit about Nephilim, angel-human hybrids. Just what the fuck are these two into? Did I stumble into some weirdo religious cult? Oh, I hope to God not. I would have to nope the fuck out of here real quick. I don’t think I do Jesus. Some of the books are written in languages I don’t understand. But the Latin and Ancient Greek, those I read as easily as English. Okay. I know that’s not normal. Like, at all. Both are dead languages.

 

Just then, there’s a loud bang above me. I look towards the platform and see Sam and Dean shouldering their way in, each carrying two full grocery bags, three in Sam’s case. The dark haired brother shuts the door behind him with his foot. I would offer to help, but I figure they look like they’ve got it under control.

 

“Just fucking great,” I hear Dean growl when he sees me.

 

“Right back at ya, big boy,” I shout as he’s coming down the staircase, throwing an exaggerated wink in for good measure. Gotta do my due diligence in pissing him off, right?

 

Sam says nothing, opting to make a beeline for a different room. I decide to follow him. Him I like. His brother, not as much. We wind up in a full scale industrial culinary kitchen, like full-blown restaurant. It’s a big space, complete with locking fridges and freezers, a table, an open pantry, and all the pots, pans, dishes, utensils, and cutlery a chef could possibly need. My eyebrows raise and I whistle in appreciation.

 

“Nice set up, you got here,” I say, hopping up onto one of the counters, swinging my feet as Sam begins to unpack the grocery bag, “So, uh, where is this place exactly?”

 

“Lebanon, Kansas,” he says, “Where are you from?”

 

Question for a question. I can respect that quid pro quo. Where am I from? Where am I– a blinding stabbing pain fills my head. Like someone took a white hot poker and drove it through my temple. I scream, throwing my arms up to my head trying to protect it from this pain, and end up falling off the counter. Sam – bless him – rushes to my side, and tries to sit me up. I hear thundering footsteps, what sounds like the cocking of a gun. I can’t see through the blinding pain and tears pooling in my eyes. I feel Sam pull me against his chest, pressing his hand against my head, holding it steady. A gasp escapes my lips, as the pain abates suddenly, like someone injected me with morphine. I feel my body shudder. I can’t stop the lo keening whines spilling from my lips, no matter how hard I clamp them together.

 

“What the hell happened?” Dean growls.

 

“I – I don’t know,” Sam stammers out (same bud, same), “I just asked her where she’s from.”

 

The pain in my head has let up enough for me to get some words out, “This … happens when I … I try to remember.”

 

“Remember what?” Dean asks. For once there’s no malice in his voice. Congratu-fucking-lations, he CAN be nice. Lemme just get him a gold fucking star.

 

I twist in Sam’s arms to face Dean. He’s still holding his gun, but limply at his side.

 

“Anything,” I say quietly, “Anything but my name. I – I know nothing about myself.”

 

Sam and Dean exchange glances. I hate it when they do that, like they know something I don’t.

 

Dean strides over to me and tosses a couple things into my lap. What looks like an iPod with a pair of headphones and a wallet. My hands are shaky as I take them, and open the wallet. There’s a driver’s license, and a picture of me. My name Elvira A. Castle. My birthday, November 16, 1991; that makes me … what … 26. And an address for Seattle. Apparently, I’m an organ doner too. Besides the ID, there’s two cards, a credit card and a debit card. There’s a couple hundred dollars in cash. The last thing I find is a faded polaroid of me and a boy. He’s got big brown eyes, a sharp strong jawline, high slanted cheekbones, and a faint smirk. He’s got his arm wrapped around my shoulders. I flip it over. Written in chicken scratch is ‘El and Ry 4ever 2016’. I can’t explain the emptiness I feel seeing this photograph. I just know I don’t want it anymore. I hold it out to Dean.

 

“Can you get rid of this?”

 

He takes it from me, “Do you recognize that cuck?”

 

I shake my head, “I just – I know I don’t want it. I don’t know why.”

 

“Your choice,” Dean says with shrug. He gets rid of the picture.

 

“You alright?” Sam asks.

 

“I’m okay,” I say. But I’m not. I have no idea who I am.

 

I disentangle myself from Sam’s arms and stand on still-weak knees. I wait before moving, until my feet feel solid beneath me. Then, I leave the kitchen. Sam calls out my name, but I can’t bring myself to respond. My fist is curled around the wallet and iPod like they’re some sort of like line. In a way, I guess they are. Carrying me through the bunker, my feet move of their own volition. Somehow I end up in a garage of sorts. Three or four old time-y cars sit collecting dust as well as a couple motorcycles.

 

My eyes rove over the different cars before finally settling on a black Chevrolet Impala. It’s the only car in here that seems relatively dust free. Something deep inside me pulls me over to that car. I walk over to it, open the driver’s side, and collapse into the seat. It’s almost like I’m on autopilot. I shut the door. For a long while, I stare at the iPod in my hands. I’m not sure if I’m having too many emotions to process or if I just don’t feel anything at all. A deep breath seizes my lungs. Right now, I feel like I am not my own.

 

My fingers unwrap the earbuds from the iPod and slip both nubs in each ear. Instantly, any minute noises I hear, fade into a muffled sort of faded silence. My hand slides to the top of the iPod where the on button is. I turn the device on. The screen lights up, featuring the apple with the bite out of it. An album cover pops up. There’s two little kids sitting in a booth at a really old looking McDonalds. It says the song is _Time After Time_ by _Iron and Wine_. For some reason, I hesitate. My thumb hovers over the white play symbol. Another deep breath seizes my lungs with no directive from me and my thumb collides with the screen.

 

_//Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you/Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new/Flashback, warm nights almost left behind/Suitcases of memories, time after...//_

 

The music hits me like a sucker punch to my kidneys. At the same time though, I also feel like I’m surfacing after drowning, my lungs greedily filling with air. His voice, the guitar. It all feels so real. It’s the first thing that has felt real to me in ages. The music swells into the chorus. My hands find the leather of the steering wheel and I lean towards it. Maybe I’m clinging to the material so that I know I’m real, that this is real, that this isn’t some dream that’s gone way out of control. My forehead drops and rests on the top of the steering wheel. And I stay like that.

 

Distantly, through the tidal wave of music and emotions, I hear the car door open. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sam get in the car just as the music fades away. Then it begins anew. He doesn’t say anything. He just sits there. And I just sit there, unable to move, unable to speak. The plays again. And then a third time. And a fourth time, before I finally pull the earbuds out of my ears.

 

“This must be really difficult for you,” Sam’s voice is gentle.

 

No shit Sherlock.

 

“Yes,” the word is dry from my dry throat and dry lungs.

 

“Whatever happens, we’ll help you through this,” Sam says, “It will be okay, Elvira. We’re not just going to throw you out.”

 

My chest lightens a little and I smile, “Thank you.”

 

He puts a hand on my knee. And we stay like that. We stay like that for awhile. It feels good to have someone next to me. I appreciate the human warmth. Eventually though, Sam withdraws his hand. He gives me a warm smile.

 

“Dean was making burgers for dinner,” Sam says, “Come on, they’re probably done. Plus, uh, if he finds you in his car, he might kill ya.”

 

He gets out of the car. I follow him. Because what else can I do?

 


	3. The House Is Empty

**Chapter 3: The House is Empty**

 

Surprisingly enough, Dean is a good cook. He seemed more of the brawn over brains kind of dude. I sit next to Sam at the picnic table. Dean sits across from us, occasionally giving me a dirty look. Like, whatever dude. I get that you don’t like me already. You can go fuck yourself now. As soon as I finish my burger, I swing my legs out of the picnic bench, cast Dean a glare, and then storm out of the room.

 

“Nice, Dean,” I hear Sam snipe as walk out of the room.

 

I roll my eyes. I wander around until I find myself in the library. My eyes scan the titles aimlessly they land on one title, Night and Day. I pull it off the shelf and settle into a large armchair. Fishing my iPod out of my pocket, I plug my headphones into my ears and I scroll through albums.

 

I have no idea what to listen to though. These are meaningless to me. Then I find playlists, at least 15 of them. Each carefully named. From _GETAWAY_ to _QUIETLONELYNIGHTS_. The one though that grabs me, is _THISISME_. My chest almost caves in on itself. It’s like a little wave from me that remembered me. It makes me feel slightly better. I press play.

 

Some part of me that I don’t understand, mainly because I can’t remember anything about myself, is soothed by the music. The playlist is 26 songs. Each song is like a gateway of knowledge. I think I was a very bitter person. Just a hint off the kind of music. _Melanie Martinez, The 1975, Sasha Sloan, Amber Run_ , and _Billie Eilish_. I’m honestly paying more attention to the music than the book, but every so often I’ll read a paragraph or two.

 

There’s some stuff about interdimensional travel and feeding life force off it. Really, it makes no fucking sense, but I keep reading anyways. The playlist has cycled through two times and I’m halfway through my third when Sam appears. He looks at me and smiles, going over to the bookshelf and picks a thick dusty book. He awkwardly holds it up. I’m not sure if he’s trying to show me the book, or showing me that he’s reading it. I raise my eyebrows at him and pull my headphones out.

 

“Need something?” I ask as if I could possibly provide him with something.

 

“I was just coming to do some research,” he says, then clearing his throat, he adds, “I, uh, didn’t know you could read French.”

 

I slam the book shut. Sure enough, now that I’m really looking at it, it’s French. Nuit et Jour. I stand up and shove the book back onto the shelf. I’m so angry. I’m so angry that I don’t know who I am. I’m angry that I don’t know where I belong. And I’m angry that I can read French. Lovely. One more mystery to figure out.

 

“Neither did I,” I growl, collapsing back into the armchair.

 

I don’t realize I’m crying until the tears start landing on my hands, bunched up in my lap. Sam walks over to me, his tall frame shadowing over me. He places an awkward hand on my shoulder. Even though he’s literally held me in his arms, this is strange. Mostly because he’s not trying to save me from a memory attack. He’s trying to comfort me. But I don’t know him.

 

“Dean and I think it would be good to visit that address in Seattle,” Sam says, “To try and help you figure out who you are.”

 

I look up at him hopefully, “Really?”

 

Sam nods, “Yeah, we’re gonna leave tomorrow.”

 

“Thank you,” I say softly, “Even though you guys live in some weirdo cult dungeon, I appreciate you letting me stay here, and helping me.”

 

Sam chuckles, and pats me on the back, “You’re welcome. Get some sleep, Elvira.”

 

He starts to leave the room, his book tucked under his arm.

 

“Hey Sam,” I call.

 

He turns and looks at me expectantly.

 

“We need to stop somewhere to get me clothes,” I say, “I have money. And I can’t stay in these.” I gesture to my dirty black leggings and t-shirt. “Preferably, a mall. I don’t know where you guys get your clothes, the army surplus store maybe, but fuck that.”

 

“We’ll stop somewhere,” he says, with a smile, “Goodnight Elvira.”

 

“Goodnight,” I say.

 

I know he told me to get some sleep, but I can’t fall asleep. Something keeps me awake, manically listening to the iPod and pacing and reading. Pacing and reading and listening. Until, at some point, I give up on the pacing and reading. I lay down on the floor, staring at the ceiling and listening, and listening, and listening.

 

It’s Dean who finds me in the morning, not Sam. Unfortunately. He nearly trips over me, and spills half a cup of coffee over me. Luckily, it’s not too hot. So I just lay there, covered in coffee.

 

“What the hell?” he barks, “Why the hell are you laying on the floor?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” my voice is hoarse from lack of use.

 

Dean rolls his eyes, “Whatever. Sam said you need clothes so we’ll be making a quick stop. Be ready in fifteen, Sunshine.”

 

I don’t have it in me to make a snarky retort. Instead, I heave myself up and trudge back to the room I woke up in. I snag my socks and boots and sink onto the bed. My hands feel leaden as they pull on my socks, and they seem to get heavier and heavier as put each boot on. My fingers are slow to tie the shoes, like moving through molasses. Now, I just sit on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. Pretty boring stuff.

 

Suddenly, the music in my ear cuts out. I lift the iPod up to look at it. Dead. I need to get a charger. I sigh, almost in defeat. This day is already off to a shit start. I sit on my bed staring at the wall waiting for one of the brothers to come get me. It’s Sam who finally does I-don’t-know-how-long later. He pokes his head into the room.

 

“You ready?”

 

I nod.

 

He smiles at me. This weird awkward tight-lipped smile. I know he’s trying to make me more comfortable, but really … it just makes me uncomfortable. I stand up. I follow Sam into the garage where Dean is already waiting inside the black Chevy Impala. I climb into the back seat, sitting behind Dean. It makes it difficult for him to see me. Sam takes the passenger side.

 

“New plan, Sammy,” Dean says, banging his hands on the steering wheel, “Not stopping to get clothes. We’re just gonna get her home. I mean, she’ll have clothes at home. No need. Am I right?”

 

Sam glares at his brother, “Dean …”

 

I sink into the seat, staring out the window, “It’s fine, Sam. Let’s just go.”

 

“What? No bitchy comeback?” Dean said, his voice too cheerful.

 

Sam huffs passive aggressively. I just don’t respond. It doesn’t matter to me. I don’t even know why I wanted to stop for clothes. Dean’s right. The garage door opens, and we whip out of the garage and down a small hidden drive. I take in the scenery. It’s pretty barren out hear though. There’s not even a building. It only confirms my dungeon theory.

 

Dean flips on some old school rock. The drive is empty. Nothing happens. We stop for gas. Sam and Dean talk. Something about this kid named Jack being missing. I drift off to sleep eventually. The rumble of the engine is surprisingly soothing. I wake up as we’re driving through the downtown of Seattle. I sit up straighter. My chest feels a little lighter, being here. I don’t think that has to do with any emotional significance though. I think it’s because it’s another piece of the puzzle uncovered.

 

“What’s the address?” Dean asks, his tone pissy. Unsurprisingly.

 

Instead of saying anything, I pull the ID out of the wallet and hand it to Sam. I watch as he puts the address into his phone. And we keep driving. It’s about thirty minutes before the car slows down. We pull up in front of a ramshackle house that almost looks like it was plopped down in the middle of the neighborhood. Honestly, the neighborhood itself is pretty white picket fence. Except this one house. That we’ve stopped in front of. That’s not a bad sign at all.

 

“So, uh, we’re here,” Sam says, craning his neck around to look.

 

“Let me guess,” I say, leaning over to look out the window at the house, ‘It’s that one.”

 

Sam presses his mouth into a thin line, “Yeah, that would be it.”

 

“Great, just fucking fantastic,” I mutter. Throwing the car door open, I step out into the cool weather. I slam the door behind me and storm towards the house.

 

It’s a small grey single story with two large bay windows on either side of the front door. The roof is sagging in places. The paint is peeling. One of the windows is shattered. The door seems rotted. The yard is overgrown, and growing into the sidewalk. I push open the chain link gate and walk to the front door. When I try to open it, the door doesn’t budge. For being so damn rotted, it’s sturdy. I don’t know what takes ahold of me, but I scream. Not quiet either. A loud shriek of anger and exhaustion and confusion.

 

“Hey hey hey,” I hear Sam come up behind me. He starts wrapping his arm around my shoulders and tries to steer me away.

 

“No,” I shout, “Open the fucking door! I know you can!”

 

Sam raises his hands in defeat. He gives me a sidelong look of defeat and concern. Then he does as I asked and kicks the door in. I storm inside. I don’t know what I’m looking for. Anything. Any sort of clue. Anything that could point me to me. But the house is even worse on the inside than it was on the outside. Nobody has lived here for years. My license is recent though. This makes no sense.

 

I walk from empty room to empty room. Taking in the filthy decaying floors littered with holes, the grimey walls with their peeling wallpaper, I search. I’m downright desperate. In the kitchen, the sink is rusted, the old refrigerator is open and dead. Everything about this place is dead. I’m not giving up that easily though.

 

Turning to Sam, I say, “I want to find out about the last people who lived here.”

 

“We’ll help you,” Sam says, “We’re pretty good at getting information. So just leave it to us.”

 

“No, I’m going to be a part of this,” I say, “I’m going to find out who I am if it’s the last damn thing I do.”

 


	4. Tuesdays, We Wear Plaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright-y folks, here's Chapter 4. Lemme know what you guys think. Comments, kudos, etc. all HELLA appreciated. Lots of love, your friendly neighborhood ghost

**Chapter 4: Tuesdays, We Wear Plaid**

 

I’m laying on the backseat when Sam and Dean get back into the car. Both of them slamming their doors in unison. I seat up, looking at Sam expectantly.

 

“Well, that was a dud,” Dean huffs.

 

Sam turns to me, his brown eyes apologetic, “None of the neighbors seem to know anything about the last people who lived there.”

 

I fold my arms across my chest, “Fine. Then we hit the internet.”

 

Sam nods, “We’ll get a hotel room. If you want to get some clothes, I’ll take you to do that.”

 

“Are you sure you should be wandering off with her alone?” Dean asks and I swear to God he gives me the side-eye, even though I can’t see it.

 

“I can hear you, you know,” I grouse, “It’s not like I can do anything. No memory, dickface.”

 

“Dickface, huh?” Dean asks, “I think you should watch your mouth, Princess. Otherwise I’ll kick ya to the curb.”

 

I huff and throw myself against the back seat, glaring at Dean. I know I look like a child, but I just can’t help it. I remain like that until we get to the hotel. It’s a dingy little hole in the wall that’s probably crawling with bedbugs and rodents. I shiver at the thought of sleeping in one of those beds. Sam and Dean lead the way into the hotel, each carrying a duffel bag. I stick close to Sam.

 

The lobby fits in with the outside. The red Turkish carpet is faded and filthy. The front desk looks like it could collapse at any moment. The guy behind the front desk looks decrepit and gross, like a meth head pedophile. He gives Sam and Dean an oily smile. It fits in nicely with his thin greying hair that’s been scooped limply back. He eyes me, his cloudy blue eyes sliding up and down my body. I almost grab the back of Sam’s plaid, but I stop myself. I’m better than that. I hold my chin up, and look him in the eyes. Weirdly enough, it works. He looks away from me.

 

“Two rooms?” even his voice is greasy. He looks hopefully at me once again.

 

Dean glances back at me, a look of understanding passes his features. He leans onto the desk and gives the man a smile that’s half charm, half challenge. Honestly, I’m surprised the desk hasn’t collapsed from the little bit of weight he’s put onto it.

 

“One room oughta do it,” he says, that same smile plastered to his face, “Gotta keep her entertained, if ya catch my drift.” He winks at Mr.Methaphile.

 

I want to be angry at him, to slap him. But I know he’s actually doing this protect me. I mean, who would try anything with a girl who’s with two guys that are as huge as these two. And it’s obvious they’re in good shape too. The guy’s eyes shift between the three of us, and I step closer to Dean. I grab his jacket in my fists and pull myself flush with him.

 

“Hurry up, babe,” I say, keeping my voice low and seductive, but adding a touch of a whine, “You guys can’t keep me waiting all day.”

 

He throws me a wink and grins, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

Dean slaps a credit card onto the counter. The man, considerably less friendly, inputs the information on the card. When he’s through, he sets two keys on the counter with a displeased frown. That’s gotta be good for me though.

 

“Room 205,” he mutters, before turning away without another word.

 

Dean shrugs with an arrogant smile. He throws his arm around my shoulder and we turn around. I bury my face into his shoulder and giggle teasingly. I almost feel like this is too much, but I really don’t want that motherfucker turning up in the middle of the night trying to get into my pants. As soon as we’re down the hall, I push myself away from his in disgust.

 

“Thanks,” I mumble.

 

“Whatever,” his voice is about as welcoming as a cactus on a winter night in the desert.

 

I scoot back towards Sam. The elevator we take to the second floor makes me want to throw up. Not just because of the smell, which is a combination of spoiled milk and rotten fish, or the groaning sounds it makes on its way up. The tight space is what makes me want to vomit. I guess I’m claustrophobic. When the elevator dings and the doors peel open, I nearly tumble out of it in my eagerness to escape.

 

“What’s your deal?” Dean barks at me.

 

“I … it smells bad,” I mutter. Yeah, not telling him about the claustrophobia. Fuck that.

 

He purses his lips and tilts his head in my direction, “Can’t argue with that.”

 

I’m surprised he didn’t try. Dean leads the rest of the way to the room, which isn’t far. The brass numbers on the door are crooked and the 5 is about to fall off. Dean takes his sweet time opening up the door with his key. Once the door is open, we all shuffle inside. Sam flips the light on revealing the room.

 

It’s pretty plain. It has a tiny kitchen-ish area that has a dinky refrigerator, an old coffee pot that probably won’t work, and ancient microwave. There’s an old box TV that somehow has a cable box connected to it. There are two twin beds, each covered in a faded red comforter. Between the two beds is a nightstand with a lamp.

 

Dean tosses his duffle on the bed closest to the door. Sam brushes past me and sets his down on the same one. I guess this means I get the other bed. Collapsing onto the bed, I throw myself backwards. While Sam and Dean get settled I stare at the ceiling. I need a shower. And clean clothes. I think this funk is making my overall mood far worse.

 

Maybe I just need to feel a little control. And if buying clothing will do that, so help me god, I will spend what little money I have on clothes. Sam and Dean are talking about these characters named Jack and Cas. Neither of whom I’ve met, both of whom get mentioned quite a bit.

 

“I need clean clothes,” I say softly.

 

Dean either doesn’t hear me or ignores me and keeps talking. Sam though, turns away from his brother.

 

“We’ll go in about fifteen,” Sam says, “Is that alright?”

 

I nod. The brothers return to their conversation. I’m left here. To my thoughts. Again. My mind flashes back to that house. I don’t know what we’ll discover, but there’s this feeling in the pit of my stomach that says whatever it is, won’t be good. I want to go back to listening to music, but I need to pick up a charger for my iPod. And a Bluetooth speaker. I know I’m thinking like I’ll be with them for awhile, but I don’t know how to think any other way at the moment. Nothing is real for me. And these two, even if Dean is an asshole, are the only real thing I have.

 

“You ready?” Sam’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts.

 

I nod.

 

“Imma head down the street to the convenience store we passed,” Dean says, “You want anything, Sammy?”

 

“I could use a beer,” Sam says, “You want anything Elvira?”

 

I look at Dean, “The biggest bottle of red wine they have. And some snacks.”

 

Less than enthused, Dean grumbles, “What kind of snacks?”

 

I shrug, “I dunno. I don’t know what I like, surprise me.”

 

Dean stalks off muttering about snacks, and not knowing what to fucking get me. The door slams heavily behind him as he leaves the room. For some reason, I stare at the door.

 

“Why does he hate me?” I find myself asking.

 

Sam sighs, “It’s complicated.”

 

I snort, “I bet … Let’s just go.”

 

We leave the room and Sam locks the door behind us. The walk down to the car is silent, and a little awkward. Not to mention that creepy methaphile eyeing me the whole time we’re in the lobby. Which isn’t long. But what it lacks in length, it makes up for in sheer hair prickling scream vibes. When we reach the car, I take the passenger side and Sam takes driver.

 

  
“So, uh, there’s a mall not far from here,” Sam says, “Is-”

 

“That’s fine,” I say curtly.

 

The drive is awkward and silent. I’m really not sure why. Sam and I have gotten along just fine over the last day. Maybe without me being so weak and needy, he’s not sure how to handle me. Hell, I don’t know how to handle me.

 

The mall is a dome of light in the quickly darkening area. Sam pulls into a spot close to the entrance. As he shuts the engine off, I try to figure out what to say to him. He looks over at me and semi smiles. Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?

 

“Do you mind if I stay here?” Sam asks, looking at the mall like a cocaine addict would a police officer.

 

My hands twist in my lap, “Would you actually mind coming in with me? I – I don’t want to go alone.”

 

Sam smiles, “Sure, no problem.” He takes a deep breath. And so do I.

 

Together we get out of the car and head into the depths. The mall, while not terribly busy, still has a lot of people. Sam keeps pace with me, making sure to stay comfortably at my side. He doesn’t say much. I can see his eyes constantly scanning. I don’t know what these guys have been through, but it has to be some pretty rough shit. Especially if they’re living in a glorified dungeon and dress from the army surplus store. And watching Sam’s eyes, constantly looking for some threat to dismantle.

 

My first stop is a little boutique where I purchase a plain black dress and a much sexier red one. There, I also get a blue slouch beanie. The next store we go into is a lot bigger, and oriented more towards teen and young adult girls. I get some black and grey jogger sweats, a few pairs of black skinny jeans, some loose t-shirts, a couple crop tops, and some plaid button downs. Because – clearly – there’s a dress code with these guys. In the body shop store, I buy some shampoo and conditioner that’s jasmine and vanilla scented as well as some lotion and body soap of the same scents. Sam ends up carrying bags for me. I didn’t even have to ask. He just took them without a word. Weird, but nice. In the tech store, I buy a charger and a decent Bluetooth speaker.

 

It’s here that I run out of cash. There’s still stuff I need though. I pull out the debit card from my wallet and ask Sam to borrow his phone. I call the number on the back of the card. The automated system asks me for the card number and the expiration date. Then the system asks me for my pin. My throat closes up. I need to guess. My fingers shake as I type in my birth year digits. That’s when the automated system, starts listing off more options and what I can do in my account menu. I breath a sigh of relief. I wait until it finishes listing options. Then I select a balance inquiry. It reads out the number. My jaw drops. Holy. Shit. I am rich. Filthy rich. Well, maybe not filthy rich. But there’s five hundred thousand dollars on this debit card just waiting to be used.

 

“We’re good to go,” I say to Sam, handing him back his phone.

 

“There’s money on that?” he asks.

 

If he asks me how much, I’m not going to tell him, better yet … I’m going to lie about how much there is. They don’t need to know. I mean, what they don’t know isn’t gonna hurt them. Especially in this case. I swallow, forcing a small smile on my face. I need to act normal. I take a big breath as inconspicuously as possible and slowly release it through my nose.

 

“Yes,” I reply, “It seems like me with memories had a job. There’s a few grand.” Well, depending on your definition of a few, that’s actually not technically a lie. It’s even better that way. The best lies are the ones that are technically true.

 

We keep going. In a biker store, I get a leather jacket, a pair of overalls, and one more pair of jeans. In a outdoors store, I pick out a body heat reflective down jacket. The shoe store takes me awhile, but I end up getting a pair of black Doc Martins, a pair of sensible black flats, a pair of converse, and a pair of back heels. At Target, I get my hygiene stuff and a backpack as well as a duffel bag. Our last stop is probably the most embarrassing. This one, I ask Sam to wait outside. He readily and awkwardly agrees.

 

I go into Victoria’s Secret alone. There are so many options. So much lace. I get a couple sets of sensible underwear, plain panties, plain but comfortable bras. Then I get some things to feel good in. Some black lace thongs, a black lace bralette, a pastel pink lace one piece, silky white bikini cut with a sheer front panel, a white bra to match. I get a bra and panty set that’s deep violet and mostly strings. There’s also the crimson panties where the panel over my ass is sheer. The bra that matches that one is a pushup and will make my boobs look fantastic. My favorite thing though is the sheer black robe. There’s really no point to it, except when I want to feel particularly sexy. I leave with three bags from there alone.

 

When I come out, Sam’s face is slightly flushed, “Is this it then?”

 

I nod.

 

We head back into the outdoors. Darkness has long fallen. We were in there for a couple hours. If possible, Sam is even more awkward now than he was before. The Victoria Secret thing probably freaked him out. Well, I’m sorry. But I’m a female with needs. As we load my bags into the trunk, I wrack my brain for something to say to him.

 

“Hey Sam,” I say softly.

 

“Yeah?” his voice is strong, but quiet.

 

“Thanks,” I reply, “I know you were pretty uncomfortable, so I really appreciate it.”

 

“No problem,” he says. His tone is even, but as he’s walking around the car to get in the driver’s side, I swear I catch a hint of a smile in the light of the street lamp. You know, I think Sam and I will get along just fine.

 


	5. Truth Be Told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the fifth chapter, dears. Thankyou for the comments, kudos, etc. I really appreciate them all! Lots of love, your friendly neighborhood ghost.

**Chapter 5: Truth Be Told**

 

When Sam and I get back to the room, Dean is already there and four beers through a six pack. He whistles as we lug in my bags. I shoot him a glare as I drop the bags unceremoniously on the floor at the foot of the bed. The first things I do is tear open the charger for my iPod and plug it in. I feel enormous relief knowing that I’ll be able to escape to the music soon.

 

“What’s this?” Dean asks suggestively, toeing one of the Victoria’s Secret bag.

 

“Piss off,” I mutter.

 

He grins at me and reaches down into the bag, pulling out one of the black lace thongs. I snatch it out of his hand and toss it back into the bag, I shuffle through the bags until I find a pair of joggers and a t-shirt. I need to shower, I feel absolutely disgusting.

 

I go carry my pajamas into the bathroom as well as the bag with my hygiene products. Then, I slam the door and lock it. Stupid baffoon. I turn the water on as hot as it gets and strip down to nothing. I’m in good shape, toned, but not muscular. And I have tattoos. A few of them. One under my collar bone, one on my forearm, one on my hip bone, one on my thigh, and one on my ribs under my breast. The one under my collar bone reads _la poesie est dans la rue_ in a rolling script all connected. The one on my forearm says, _i feel as though i was deceived I never found love in the city_ in a messy typewriter font. On my thigh, it says _HOPELESS_ in gothic lettering. And under my breast, it’s a slim rose beneath the words _my heart has stopped beating_. I turn to look at my back. There’s one on my back as well, a watercoloresque hummingbird sipping out of a honeysuckle.

 

I get into the shower, stepping into the thin stream of lukewarm water. I soak my hair first, rinsing as much grease and dirt away as I can. Then I shut the water off and shampoo my hair. Once my hair is well lathered, I switch the water back on and rinse the suds out of my hair. I already feel fifty times cleaner. I then switched the water off again and afterwards conditioned my hair. I let the conditioner soak into my hair for a few minutes before rinsing that out too. I turn the water off and step out of the shower.

 

I take one of the clean white towels from the towel bar and vigorously rub my body dry. Carefully, I wrap my hair in a turban, using the towel. Forgoing panties, I pull on the joggers. Then I pull on the t-shirt, braless. I throw my filthy clothes in garbage. There’s no hope for those.

 

I throw open the bathroom door and stride over to my bed, flopping down on it. Wow, let me just say, showers go waaaaaaaaaaayyyyy under appreciated. I check the charge on my iPod. It’s about fifty percent. I leave it be.

 

“You want that wine?” Dean asks.

 

“Gimme,” I say, a little too eagerly.

 

He drops the bottle on the bed between my legs. The cork is stuck in there still. I frown. I look to Sam who’s busy on his laptop. Dean is laying on the bed, chugging back a beer. Chewing my lip thoughtfully, I glance between the two brothers. Sam is busy, but I really don’t want to ask Dean for anything. Looks like I’m gonna have to suck it up though.

 

“You got a cork screw?” I ask.

 

Dean gives me a side-long look. He fishes in his pocket and tosses me a Swiss army knife. I open up the cork screw portion and start drilling it into the cork. Wrapping my things around the bottle to hold it steady, I use all the strength in my upper arms to steadily drive the corkscrew straight down. When the screw is as far down as I can get it, I clench the bottle as tightly between my thighs as I can and yank the cork out.

 

“Ooh baby,” I whisper, as I chug straight off the bottle. It’s a red. Obviously cheap, but it doesn’t taste too bad honestly.

 

I see Sam off to the side, his eyebrows raised in judgement. Still chugging off the bottle, I flip Sam off with my free hand. When I finally need a good breath of air, I lower the bottle, letting it rest between my legs. I reach for the remote to control the cable box. I flick the TV on. It takes the television a minute to warm up. Eventually, a faded image of a blonde woman with huge tits screaming about prices being unfair or something like that.

 

“You’re not gonna find anything worth watching,” Dean mutters towards me. I say towards me and not to me because I’m not sure he ever really interacts with me. He just interacts towards me.

 

Instead of stooping into an argument with him, I start going through my bags. I pack the backpacks I got with all my clothes. I leave on bag that I put my coats and shoes in. While packing my bags, I take swigs off the red wine. When I get to the Bluetooth speaker, I unpackage it and plug it in. As soon as everything is stowed away, I shove all the bags and packing into the biggest bag to be thrown in the trash.

 

Now that that’s done, I grab my iPod and switch on the Bluetooth. Then I press the scan button on the speaker. The two pair with a little beep. I flick through my playlists until I come across one entitled _DOWNANDDIRTY._ I press play. The first song that comes on is slow, low, and deeply sensual. It’s called _Twisted_ by _TwoFeet_. I put the speaker on my nightstand and stand. My body knows this music, even though my head doesn’t. My hips start moving slowly sensually, my body twisting and writhing in time to the beat. Every so often I take another sip off the wine. I lose myself in the music. The song ends almost suddenly. I open my eyes to find Dean and Sam both staring at me.

 

“What?” I snap, uncomfortable with their staring. Especially Dean. Honestly, it was more sexual than anticipated.

 

“Nothin’,” Dean mutters, shifting his gaze away from me.

 

“Well, uh, I found something,” Sam says, his voice very cautious.

 

I look over at him, eventually walking over to peer over his shoulder. He’s looking at a news article from almost a year after I was born. My stomach knots itself when I see obituaries open in another tabs. Sam leans over and pulls the computer closer for me to see better. Everything seems to distance itself as I read and the deeper in I get, the more distant everything gets.

 

 _Tragedy has struck a suburban neighborhood in Seattle, Washington. The Castle family, consisting of Alex Castle, Lorelei Castle, and their one year old daughter, Elvira, were found in their family home after a concerned neighbor noticed something amiss. It seems the family passed due to a toxic build up of carbon monoxide. No relations have been found. The family will be buried in a local cemetery together. We’ll take this time to remind everyone to, please, check their carbon monoxide monitors to ensure they’re in proper working condition_.

 

I freeze, “I want to see a body.” I stare at the words on the screen, “And death certificates.”

 

Sam nods, “We can do that. For now though, how about you gets some rest. You’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

 

I shake my head, “I want to see death certificates.”

 

Sam adjusts his computer to give himself a better view. I stay there, unmoving. The keys click for a few minutes before he pushes the computer back into my direct view. My eyes run over the scan of the documents, each one stamped with an official seal. My name _Elvira Aelynn Castle._ Cause of death. _Alexander Edward Castle_. Cause of death. Cause. Of. Death. Carbon Monoxide poisoning. I slam my fist into the table. My knuckles ache.

 

“What is this?” my voice shakes. And I hate it. But I can’t help it. “I don’t understand.”

 

“There could be any number of explanations,” Sam says softly.

 

“Well, give me one,” I demand, and I know he can hear the desperation in my voice, “Anything.”

 

Sam casts a glance in Dean’s direction, but the guy is happily zoned out with his walkman. Seriously, who uses walkmans anymore? He looks back at me and pulls out the chair on the other side of the table. Then he pats it, giving me a half assed smile. I sit in the seat, looking expectantly at Sam.

 

“Okay, so … this world is filled with monsters, and witches, and demons, and angels,” Sam says, incredibly slowly, “So … there’s a chance that you could be some kind of … monster … or a zombie or … resurrected by witch magic.”

 

“You’re insane,” I say, standing up. “I’m going to bed.”

 

“El, I’m telling the truth,” Sam grouses, standing up. “You’ve gotta listen to me. Just in case we do find your body. You’ve got no friends, no family, not much money, and no home. No way to live life.”

 

I round on him, tears falling down my cheeks, “Don’t you think I know that!? Don’t you think I don’t know best of all that I have no one and nothing!? That your asshole brother is gonna toss me out on my ass regardless of the results we get!? I know, Sam. Trust me, I know.”

 

Suddenly, I feel someone’s hands gripping my arms. I get spun around and nearly trip over my own feet. It’s Dean. His hands grip my upper arms and he stares at me, his green hazel eyes almost fire-y. His hands are so tight they almost hurt. Almost.

 

“Listen Princess, I’m only gonna say this once,” he growls out, “We’re not just gonna ditch ya if this turns out to be the case. We’re gonna figure what’s goin’ on. Okay?”

 

I nod, my tears drying up.

 

“Okay,” Dean growls, almost pushing me away as he releases my arms. "Now stop your crocodile tears."

 

I collapse onto the bed, taking my iPod and shoving the earbuds into my ears. I cast a sideways look at Dean. What an asshole.


	6. The Dead Girl Is Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, chapter 6 here. I hope you guys like this. We're getting closer to startingto follow season 13. And, Dean and Elvira are getting closer. Slowly. Little by little. I have a few torturous scenes planned before there are any changes in their relationship though. Also, out of sheer curiosity, does anyone like Sam with Elvira? Just curious. Lots of love, your friendly neighborhood ghost. Comments, kudos, etc are all super duper appreciated!

**Chapter 6: The Dead Girl Is Me**

 

When I wake up, Sam and Dean are already showered and dressed. I blink the sleep out of my eyes and push myself to sit up. Sam smiles at me as he finishes throwing the last of his belongings into a bag. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, stretching. Dean brushes past me, ignoring my presence entirely, and snags his watch off the side of the table. Despite being somewhat kind to me last night, Dean is back to his cheery self. Dick.

 

“I spent the morning talking to funeral directors,” Sam says, sounding very tired. “I’ve got it narrowed down to two cemeteries.”

 

“Great,” my tone is short, clipped. I sound pissed, but I’m not really. I’m just tired.

 

I shuffle through my bags until I find a pair of light skinny jeans and a black crop top. I shuffle into the bathroom and dress as quickly as possible. Then, I throw my hair up into a half bun. When I get out, all of our bags are packed and together by the door. I throw my pajamas into one of my bags and slip my converse on.

 

“Ready?” Sam asks.

 

I nod, throwing my backpack over my shoulder. I’m about to toss my duffel bag over my other shoulder, when it’s lifted from my hands. Dean slings it over his back.

 

He doesn’t look at me, but he mutters, “The creep downstairs might think it’s weird if you’re carrying a bunch of bags I could be carryin’.”

 

Oh. My. God. What a liar. We’re never gonna see that fucker again. He’s doing something nice for me. Well, what a surprise. It probably has something to do with my accidental striptease last – pain lances through my left temple. I feel myself collapsing to the ground, but my vision fades out, my hearing fades out. Suddenly, it’s like I’m living out of body. _Music is playing, Twisted by TwoFeet. Red and violet flashing lights roaming over a stage lined with poles. I know I’m in a strip club. Somehow this feels familiar._

 

_I see myself saunter from behind the velvet curtains. I’m wearing a silky red cocktail dress, with a faux fur shawl draped over my shoulders. Honestly, I look like a brunette Jessica Rabbit, but it doesn’t weird me out. I saunter out in time to the rich vibrating bass. Throwing my fur shawl into the crowd of eager young men. I slip over to one of the poles, gripping it firmly in my hand, and spin around it. I slide one of my surprisingly tasteful heals down the pole. I turn, giving the crowd my back, and unzip my dress, letting the see the creamy skin of my back. I watch myself slip the dress from my body, letting it float down to the floor in a silken crimson pool. I turn on one foot, and use my other to kick the dress into the crowd. Now I’m in nothing but a crimson lace bralette and a pair of bikini cut panties with a sheer panel over my ass. This is when the show really begins. I climb the pole, swing myself around it, slide down it. At one point, I’m hanging practically upside down, the pole pinched between my thighs, leaving my arms free. This is when I watch myself take my bra off and toss it into the screaming crowd._

 

_The screams fade into a conversation, playing while I watch myself continue to strip._

 

_“Elvira, you’re our most popular dancer,” a man says, “Do you have any idea how much he’s offered?”_

 

_“I told you, James,” I hear my own voice, but with a little bit of a classy lilt, “I’m a stripper, not a hooker. Turn him down, because if I have to, you know it won’t be pretty.”_

 

 _The man sighs_. I jolt back into myself, my body convulsing. My head slams backwards and I wince in preparation for it to meet the floor, but it doesn’t. Sam is on his knees holding me again. Dean is crouched down looking into my face, his eyes scanning me with something I can’t name.

 

“What the hell just happened?” Dean barks out, all asshole again.

 

“I’m a stripper,” the words slip out before I can stop myself. Man, the look of shock on both their faces is incredible. I kinda don’t regret that little slip up now. “I … remembered something. I was dancing to that song I played last night. I was a stripper. A good one, I guess.”

 

“Well, that certainly explains last night,” Dean says with a smirk, “Care to give us a show sometime? I mean, a real one?”

 

My face goes deadpan and I force myself up until I’m standing, “Fuck off.”

 

I look at Sam, who just won’t meet my eyes. I huff in anger. Clearly someone has some thoughts about the fact that I’m a stripper. Now that I’ve remembered that, all my routines, everything has come back to me. I glance between the two brothers, one who likes the fact that I was (am??) a stripper, and one who doesn’t.

 

I take my duffel that Dean set on the floor and swing it onto my back and I grab my backpack and then I throw the room door open. I storm down the hall towards the elevator.

 

“Elvira, wait!” I hear Sam call.

 

“Nice one Sammy,” I hear Dean tease as I jam my finger into the down button, willing the elevator to come faster.

 

Stupid judgmental boy. Stupid horny boy. The doors slide open and I step into the elevator and turn around to watch the doors shut, leaving me alone. This is the first time I’ve ever really been alone. Even when we were in the bunker, I knew Sam and Dean were rooms away. They were there. Now, they’re not. And because of that I’ve got this uneasy roiling in the pit of my stomach. I hate this attachment I have to them. I’m so scared though.

 

I’m leaning against the Impala when Dean appears, shouldering a few bags. He unlocks the trunk and we toss our stuff inside. Then he unlocks the car itself. He slides into the driver’s seat, and I clamber onto the bench seat behind him. I stare absently out the window and continue to do so as Sam gets into the car after tossing his bags into the trunk. I ignore all conversation directed at me.

 

When we get to the first cemetery, we all get out of the car silently. There’s a nasty tension between us, specifically from me. I can’t get over the uneasiness I felt without them. Shaking my head to clear it, I push open the door to go into the attached church. It’s the epitome of a classic church, white with a tiny little bell tower and perched on a wide hill. A pretty woman with long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes smiles at us as we enter.

 

“Are you the Van Kreidts?” she says, her voice high and sweet.

 

I shoot Dean a glare over the pseudonym he picked. Seriously? Van Kreidt???

 

“Yes, we are,” Dean says, his voice oozing charm, “My name is Dean, this is my younger brother Sam, and our little sister Elvira.”

 

She smiles at us, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. So, you guys are looking for the graves of your biological parents?”

 

Dean nods his head, looking every inch now the sober sad man, “Well, more Elvira’s biological parents. We were all adopted by the same family, but Sammy and I have different parents. Our mom is still alive, but our dad is buried out in Kansas.”

 

The woman nods, “Well, I’m Christine. I’ll show you guys to the site. It’s Lorelei and Alexander Castle, correct?”

 

“Yes,” the word slips out of my mouth like a hiccup.

 

She starts walking, her heels clicking on the stone of the floor. We follow her out a side door and into the cemetery. She leads us past a huge weeping willow and down a winding path until we reach the base of a hill. Between two tall evergreens there’s a single headstone. A huge stone angel with her arms spread beckoningly. At the base of the statue, the name Castle is carved in Old English lettering. Beneath the family name are three other names. Alexander, Elvira, Lorelei.

 

I collapse to the ground. The soft well kept grass brushing my hands. Christine looks between me and the statue with the names looking very very confused. I stay knelt like that for a long time, not saying anything. Then I feel a huge warm hand press against my shoulder. I look behind me and Sam is there, his eyes sad and concerned. The sob bursts out of me like a punch to the gut. Sam pulls me into his arms, pressing me against his chest.

 

“I’ll give you guys some privacy,” Christine says, bowing her head. I imagine I can hear the _clack clack clack_ of her heels as she walks away.

 

“The worst – the worst part about this is that I don’t know why this hurts so badly,” I whisper, “My chest just feels like it’s caving.”

 

Sam runs his hand through my hair, his fingers occasionally getting caught in my curls, “I know.”

 

We wait until nightfall. Then I wait in the car while Sam and Dean dig up the grave. When Sam comes to get me, the look on his face tells me there is a body there. When I’m faced with it, it’s something entirely different. The bodies are decomposed to bones and even those are starting to go. There are three of them. Two adult skeletons, and a little one. And something inside me snaps. I know. I know that’s me, but not. It’s me, but not me and it terrifies me.

 

“Close it up,” I whisper, “I’ve seen enough. It’s me.”

 

Then I walk away. Really, it’s the music that lets me hold it together. I try not to scream. The tears are through. I just push my earbuds into my ear and pick a playlist called DOWNBEAT. The music is soft, ambient, and it soothes my heart. I get back in the car and lay down on the back seat, zoning out to the music. Before I know it, street lights are flashing by through the window.

 

The only thing going on in my mind is it’s me, it’s me, it’s me, it’s me, it’s me, it’s me …


	7. The Laws of Attraction

**Chapter 7: The Laws of Attraction**

 

I must have fallen asleep because when I wake up, I’m in a hotel bed. Sam is on his laptop sitting on a chair facing the window. I push myself up and look around. This motel is slightly nicer than the last one. Marginally.

 

“Hey,” Sam says, “How are you doing?”

 

“Peachy,” my voice sounds dead, even to myself.

 

“Listen, I know things have been hard for you,” Sam shuts his laptop and looks at me, his hands folded across his widespread knees, “And I’m basically a stranger, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

 

“I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile, “I’m going to shower.”

 

I shower quickly, scrubbing myself clean of dirt and grime and dressing in jeans, a plaid shirt, and my converse. When I’m through, Dean is back. He and Sam are bent over Sam’s laptop, reading something intently.

 

“Morning Princess,” Dean mutters, “Sam made me get you some coffee.”

 

I roll my eyes. On the nightstand, is a medium coffee cup. I take a tentative sip and immediately spit it out. Who the actual fuck drinks black coffee? Gross. I march over to the sink and am about to pour it out when Dean frantically interrupts me. His long arms reach over me and snatch the cup away.

 

“I paid good money for that,” he says, “You don’t want it? I’ll drink it.”

 

“What is coffee like a precious commodity? Are we running out?” I snipe at him.

 

Dean rolls his eyes, “So if you don’t like coffee, what do you like?”

 

I shrug and tap my temple with my forefinger. Dean just rolls his eyes again.

 

“Ya know, if you keep rolling your eyes, they’re gonna get stuck like that,” I mutter.

 

“You’d like that,” Dean shoots back, “Just so you could laugh.”

 

I snort, “You’re not wrong.”

 

I brush my hair out and throw it into a bun. As I’m getting ready, I listen in on the boys’ conversation. They’re talking about having a ‘case’. Sam wants to go check it out, but Dean, well, Dean wants to know what they’ll do with ‘that’. I have the strangest feeling that ‘that’ is me. Sam suggests they bring me along, saying I’ll have to get used to it anyways. Finally, in typically huffy Dean style, Dean gives in with a snide ‘hey, if you wanna get her killed, that’s on you buddy.’

 

“El?” Sam calls me over.

 

I hum in response and walk over to him. It makes me unreasonably happy that he’s slipped into using my supposed nickname.

  
  
“We found a possible case a few towns over,” he says, shutting his laptop, “We were wondering if you wanted to come along. If not, we’ll just leave you here and come get you when we’re through. It’ll be dangerous though so if you don’t want to that’s-”

 

“I don’t have anything better to do,” I say, “But first, I need some REAL coffee.” I stick my tongue out at Dean over my shoulder. Asshole.

 

“Sweetheart, this is real coffee,” Dean shoots back, “It ain’t my fault you like those douche drinks.”

 

“Whatever,” I say, my voice shades darker.

 

“Let me guess, you don’t like beer either,” I can feel him come up behind me, “Only fine wine that you sip like a bitch over a classic book.”

 

I whirl around and realize we’re almost chest to chest, “For your information, I can shoot whisky just as well as I can strip. So you better watch your mouth before you get embarrassed by a girl drinking you under the table.”

 

Dean smirks and leans forward just the slightest. His green eyes crinkling at the corners. Oh my god. Oh my god. Fuck this. I’m attracted to him. Like want to jump his bones attracted to him. He says something, but I don’t quite hear him. I’m too fascinated by his full lips moving and wishing they were touching me in indecent places. I push past him, rolling my eyes. I’ve got to get away from this dickhead. He’s confusing me. My brain says no, but my body says fuck me.

 

“Hey, don’t walk away from me,” Dean complains.

 

I retreat into the bathroom and slam the door shut, locking it behind me for good measure. I lean against the door, listening carefully. I don’t hear anything for a little bit. Then, as I predicted, those two start gossiping like a couple of middle aged Kathys who have nothing better to do.

 

“Dean …”

 

“Don’t fuckin’ say it Sammy,” Dean grouses.

 

“Dean, why don’t you just admit that you like her,” Sam says, his voice warm, “I mean, come on, she’s exactly your type. She’s pretty and she’s got a mouth on her. I even like her.”

 

My heart stumbles. Sam likes me. I know he doesn’t mean it romantically, and it makes me so happy. If Sam likes me, I’m not getting tossed on my ass anytime soon. And that makes me happy. As much as I hate to admit it, I like these creepy cult weirdos I’ve only known for a few days. Wow … I’m fucking crazy. Well, it’s too late now. I’ve already admitted it to myself. I mean, Dean’s a fucking asshole and I hate his guts. But I’m sure he’s got some good points … somewhere. Sam on the other hand is sweet and kind and smart as a whip.

 

“Listen Sammy,” Dean’s voice is careful, “I know we just lost mom and Jack’s in the wind, so maybe you’re using this girl as a buffer.” There’s a pause and then he bursts out, “What?”

 

“Nothin’,” Sam says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice, “I just didn’t think you knew what a buffer did.”

 

“Bitch,” Dean mutters.

 

“Jerk,” Sam shoots back, “Maybe I am … But Dean, we’re gonna get mom back. And with Jack, it’s only a matter of time. There was one Nephilim tracking spell, there’s bound to be another. None of that changes the fact that I like this girl.”

 

Dean doesn’t say anything. I wait a few minutes before leaving the bathroom. Dean is grabbing his bags and Sam already has his and one of mine. I take the rest of my bags and we vacate the hotel room. We’re on the road in less than five minutes going way to fast down the backroads of this backwoods little town. After about five minutes, Dean swerves into a coffee stand.

 

“Whaddya want, Princess?” he growls, hostile as ever.

 

“A 16 oz iced white chocolate mocha,” I spout out, not even knowing what I’m saying, “With hemp milk if they have it.”

 

“The fuck is hemp milk?” Dean stares at me incredulously, “Weed water?”

 

I snort, “That’s it. I’m calling hemp milk ‘weed water’ from now on.”

 

Dean repeats my order to the barista. Who smiles at him, very prettily, I don’t think Dean sees it, but she tugs her shirt down ever so slightly revealing more of her plentiful bust. Ever since I got that memory, I’ve been much more perceptive. Maybe as a stripper, I had to be very observant and read people. That actually makes a lot of sense.

 

She hands the drink to Dean, who gives her a cheeky grin before passing her a card. I’m about to stop him and hand him mine, but she’s already charged him by the time I open my mouth. Dean takes his card back. We drive off and Dean takes a sip off my drink before handing it to me. And as a lovely bonus, it has her number written on it. I choke back laughter. I’m glad to know that my attraction to him isn’t that weird. He’s a wonderful specimen as far as men go. Wildly attractive.

 

“Okay, Princess, I’m only gonna say this once,” Dean looks away from the road briefly to glance at me, “That wasn’t god awful. At least, it’s not as bad as the fufu drinks that Sammy gets.”

 

“What do you drink Sam?” I ask, sipping off the drink.

 

“Usually a soy latte,” Sam says, shrugging, “Sometimes I get vanilla in it.”

 

I make a face, and say without thinking, “Soy is not only gross but really bad for you.”

 

How do I know that? Why do I know that? I can feel it coming before it hits me this time. Like a tide, pulling me into the void where memories should be. I have enough time to hold my drink out and say ‘here, take this.’ Sam Just gets a grip on the drink before I lose consciousness.

 

Again, it’s like an out of body experience. I’m watching myself eat a homemade salad with a small glass of red wine. I’m sitting across from the boy in the picture, Ryan. My heart collapses in on itself. He smiles and steals a bite of the chicken, then makes a face.

 

“How can you eat that?” he asks.

 

“Because it’s good, you doof,” I say, “If you take care of your body, it will take care of you.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says, “Please don’t lecture me. Isn’t it a conflict of interest, trying to make me your client?”

 

I watch myself roll my eyes, “A) I’m not a nutritionalist yet. B) I’m not trying to make you my client, I’m taking care of you because I love you.”

 

Ryan shakes his head, “I love that I can tell people my girlfriend is a stripper with a heart of gold … just trying to put herself through college.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” I snap back.

 

I feel myself slam back into my body with a jolt. My head slams into the leather seat and my body convulses a few times. I know I’m back in my body, but I’m a little afraid to move.

 

“El? El!” Sam is shouting, but his voice is distant.

 

My eyes flicker open. We’ve pulled over. I can tell because outside the sky’s not moving. Sam and Dean are both leaned over their seats. Sam looks concerned. Dean just looks like he’s being bothered with something inconvenient. The laugh pours out of me, bubbling up from my gut. I laugh so hard tears start to form. And it feels good. The guys’ look at me like I’m insane, which I might very well be.

 

“I –,” I gasp out around the laughter, “I – I was a strip – stripper with a – a – a heart of – gold.” The laughter just doesn’t die down, “I became – a stripper – to – to put myself – through – through – college.”

 

It takes a few minutes, but I finally calm down. I wipe the liquid from my eyes. By now, Dean is driving again. His ears are red and he’s very focused on the road. Sam is still leaned over, looking at me.

 

“I was going to college to be a nutritionalist,” I say, “And I became a stripper. That’s how I know that soy is bad for you. And I can tell you why now too.”

 

“Why?” Sam asks.

 

“It’s highly processed and has a fuckton of synthetic estrogen in it,” I say, “All that estrogen upsets the hormonal imbalances in our bodies, even that of women who need estrogen.”

 

Sam nods, “No more soy. Got it.” Then he smiles, “It’s good that you’ve started remembering stuff.”

 

I smile a little, “Yeah, but none of it’s important. And it’s a little frustrating because of that.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “But at least it’s something.”

 

Suddenly, Dean cranks up the music, loud rock and roll blares through the car. Sam and I give each other a look and roll our eyes. I lean back into my seat. This is okay. I can wait.


	8. Private Detective Taylor Healy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, it's probably gonna be once a week from here on out unless I get another big lead on the story. Comments, kudos, etc. really make my day and encourage me to write more. Lots of love, your friendly neighborhood ghosts

**Chapter 8: Private Detective Taylor Healy**

 

We make it to the town in about an hour. We pull up in front of another rinkadink motel. Simultaneously, we get out of the car and slam our doors. Dean rounds to the back and unlocks the trunk. Then he flings it open. I grab my bags and wait for the boys to grab theirs. I follow Dean into the office. A pretty girl with long dark hair and big doe eyes smiles as we walk through the doors.

 

“Hello,” her voice is sweet and high.

 

“Hey, we need a room for three nights,” Dean says, flashing her one of those cocky charming grins.

 

She gives Dean a shy smile and goes to her computer. After a moment, and a few clicks, she looks up with a triumphant grin.

 

“You’re in luck,” she says, “We have a room with two doubles on the bottom floor.” She casts me a sideways look, almost daring me to say ‘oh, we’ll only need one bed’. “Will that be alright?”

 

Dean leans on the counter, and gives her a wink, “That’ll be just perfect, Sweetheart.”

 

She shoots me another sideways glance looking particularly smug. And I know, because my back is mostly turned towards her, that she thinks I can’t see her. And she thinks I’m into him like that but, seriously, over my dead body. My body may be attracted to his body, but I would rather swallow a bullet than sleep with this asshole. But for some reason her smug demeanor really chaps my hide. So I turn towards them, and give her a sickeningly honeyed smile. I glance at her name tag. Some name that starts with an A.

 

“Oh, Alice? Is it?” I say, adopting the elegant lilt from my memory, “You can have him. I have no interest in this monkey. Well, not anymore. Enjoy my sloppy seconds … Sweetheart.” For added effect, I call out, “Sammy!”

 

Then I stride outside, each step careful and long. Confident. I have to look confident. I know there’s gonna be hell to pay for this, but I can’t fucking help it. Smug people drive me nuts. Especially people like her who think getting the man makes or breaks them. Jesus. Get a life, not a man. I wait outside until Dean appears. And surprise, surprise, I was right. He does not look happy.

 

“Monkey?” Dean growls, as he stalks past me.

 

Hey, two birds one stone. I get the joy of pissing him off with the perk of pissing her off. I smile and follow him into the hotel room, happy to have been of service. Serves the jerk right. The walls are patterned in a garish green and yellow wallpaper. There are two double beds, each covered with a lime green comforer. In the corner, is nestled a little kitchenette with a small stove and oven, a coffee pot, a mini fridge, and a little dishwasher. Between the two twins is a nightstand, and a dresser sits against the wall at their foot.

 

“Seriously Elvira?” Dean whines at me, “She was putty in my palm.”

 

I grin, “I know. That’s why it was so much fun to ruin.”

 

“Fuck you,” Dean grunts.

 

“Been there, done that,” I sing, throwing my bags onto the bed.

 

Sam walks in with the last of the bags and tosses Dean the car keys. He throws his stuff of his and Dean’s bed, except his messenger bag. That he keeps, and sits down at the table. He slides out his laptop and opens it up. I walk over to him, and lean over his shoulder. I can feel him tense so I put a little distance between us. Although, I do make it so I can see the screen.

 

“Are you gonna run her through what’s goin’ on?” Dean asks, coming over to join us.

 

“Yeah, just gimme a minute,” he says, clicking around on his computer until he pulls up a file marked with the town name. Manzanita. He opens the file, pulling up several screenshots of local news articles. Articles featuring several deaths of seemingly perfectly healthy people, specifically women. The weird thing is that all these women had the blood drained from them. “So, uh, looks like we’ve got five deaths in the last three months. All women. All bloodless. Dean and I are thinking a vamp nest. A small one.”

 

I raise my left eyebrow, “Vamp? As in vampire? You guys are-.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean cuts me off, “We’re nuts. Well, Sweetheart, if we’re crazy, you’re about to be too.”

 

“Dean and I are going to head to the morgue to confirm our theory,” Sam says, shutting the laptop, “We’ll be back in an hour, maybe two.”

 

“They just let anyone in there?” I ask, my voice shrouded in disbelief.

 

Sam looks kinda sheepish, avoiding my gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, “Um, not exactly.”

 

I give him a quizzical look. Dean walks over to their bed and starts rifling around through one of their bags until he yanks something out. Turning towards us, he waves a little black thing in the air with a grin.

 

“Think fast,” he says as he tosses it.

 

I lunge for it and miss completely. My face is burning as I stoop to pick it up off the floor. Flipping it open, I see something that’s definitely very illegal. A picture of Dean in an FBI badge. I look between him and the badge. Then I toss it back to him, hitting him in the chest.

 

“I’m sure the government thinks real highly of you two,” I snort, and after a pause, I shrug, “I wanna come though. You guys say the ookie spookies are real, well, prove it. And if you’re not batshit crazy, it’s better that I know how to recognize the signs rather than have my thumb up my ass.”

 

“Fair enough,” Sam says. “We’ll stop and get you a suit. And make you a few badges-.”

 

I hold up my hand to stop him, “Oh no. Waste of time. I’ll be a private detective brought in by the,” I throw in some air quotes, “FBI. No fake badges and no crappy suits.”

 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest, “You really think that’s gonna work, Princess?”

 

I smile at him, “You’d be amazed at what you can accomplish if you look good enough.”

 

I take my bags and retreat to the bathroom. I dress in the formfitting black dress I got and slip on the heels. Then I style my hair into an elegant, yet sexy updo, leaving a couple curls down on the left side of my face. I wash my face and apply a layer of make-up, highlighting my cheekbones, doing sweeping cat-eye eyeliner, and striking my lips with a deep red lipstick. I slip the leather jacket I got on over the dress. Then I leave the bathroom.

 

Sam stares at me for a moment before shaking his head. He and Dean are already dressed in suits. Sam’s is black and Dean’s is charcoal gray. I smile at the boys’, making sure to look a little coy. My stride is impeccable in these heels and I honestly feel more comfortable in them than I have in anything else. Maybe I was a stripper with a heart of gold, but I think I actually enjoyed being a stripper.

 

“Private Detective Taylor Healy,” I say, tossing on that high class confident lilt Stripper-me had, “I specialize in homicides, specifically serial killings.”

 

Dean glares at me, “I still think this is gonna end up with you on your ass.”

 

“We won’t know until we try it, will we?” I say. The lilt sounds almost flirtatious, but that’s just the nature of the tone.

 

“What’s with the million dollar accent?” he shoots back.

 

I shrug and slip back into my normal (what is normal? I don't even know) voice, “That’s how I talked in my memories as a stripper.”

 

“Whatever,” Dean says, “Let’s roll.”

 

The ride to the morgue takes less than fifteen minutes. It occurs to me as we pull up that I’ll be literally walking into an actual house of the dead. My stomach curls and I force myself not to puke. I hate dead people. I hate dead people. I don’t know why, but I do. I force myself out of the car with Sam and Dean. Because of my anxiety though, I linger just seconds behind them. Probably not noticeable to anyone but me.

 

We walk into the building, Sam and Dean confidently leading the way. They’re stopped by the receptionist who smiles pleasantly. Sam and Dean flash their badges at her and she smiles, directing them to the bottom floor, first door on the left. Then she looks at me. I force a smile, hoping I don’t look nervous even though I feel like I’m about to combust.

 

“Private Detective Taylor Healy,” I say, looking her up and down as if she needs to know her place, “I work closely with the FBI on homicides.”

 

She nods, apparently satisfied and turns back to her work. I follow Sam and Dean to the elevator and we ride to the bottom floor. There we take the first door on the left, gently swinging it open. There’s a young man, maybe late twenties leaning over a corpse. There are three other corpses there as well. I almost puke on the floor right there. Dead. Bodies. A shiver rolls down my spine. I force myself to confidently follow these guys into the room.

 

“Detectives Bonham and Carter,” Dean says, his voice every inch the gruff calculated FBI agent, “This is our associate, Private Detective Taylor Healy. She specializes in homicides, specifically serial killings.”

 

The guy raises his eyebrows, and his gaze lingers on me, “Well, you guys sure showed up at a hell of a time. I was about to send these folks to the crematorium.”

 

I smile and walk forward, “It’s a good thing you didn’t. Mind if I take a look?”

 

“No problem,” I walk with confidence over to the bodies. I make it seem like I’m doing a thorough inspection of the body, head, hips, neck. When I get to his neck, there’s a ragged mouth shaped hole there. I try not to vomit all over the corpse. I can really feel it now.

 

“Is something the matter?” the guy asks.

 

“Yeah, detective Healy …” Dean says, his voice near jovial, “Is something wrong?”

 

Fucker. I force a smile, “As a matter of fact there is Agent Bonham. Come take a look. I’ve seen this work before.”

 

The morgue guy’s face morphs from vaguely suspicious to terrified. Sam and Dean approach the table. They bend over the body, Sam looking closely at the neck wound. The brothers exchange a glance and a little half nod. Sam looks at me and nods as well.

 

“Well, this confirms our working theory,” Dean says, “I think we’ve seen what we came to.”

 

We leave the room. Once we’re outside, I run to the nearest bush and puke. Sam comes over and stands beside me to help shield me from view. Once I’m through, I spit out the vestiges of the vomit into the bushes and stand up. Dean is leaning against the Impala, watching from a distance. I glance at Sam.

 

“I’m never gonna hear the end of that, will I?” I say.

 

He shrugs, “Probably not. If it helps though, you played it off really well.”

 

“Thanks,” I say as I start walking back to the car.

 

As we get closer to the car, the smirk on Dean’s face makes me wanna smack him into next week. I brush past him, open the door, climb into the back seat, and slam the door. Dean whistles long and low. I ignore him. The brother’s get into the car, and we start driving.

 

“Not bad for someone who’s never done a thing like that in their life,” I say.

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Except for the puking your guts up thing, ya did a real great job, Sweetheart.”

 

“Fuck off, Dean,” I bite, but the smile cuts through it.

 

“So that pretty much confirms it,” Sam says, “We’re dealing with a vamp, maybe a small nest. They seem to target young women.”

 

“You know what that means,” I say, leaning forward so my head is directly between the brothers.

 

“What’s it mean?” Sam asks, confused.

 

I look between the boys and smile, “You guys got yourself some bait right here.”

 


	9. Bad Ideas Are Actually Good Ideas Just Disguised In Really Ugly Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 9 folks. I had a lot of fun writing this one and I hope you guys have just as much fun reading it. AS always, comments, kudos, etc are always hella appreciated. They make me smile! Lots of love, your friendly neighborhood ghost

**Chapter 9: Bad Ideas Are Actually Good Ideas Just Disguised In Really Ugly Clothes**

 

“No, absolutely not,” Dean growls.

 

“Why the hell not?” I demand, glaring at him.

 

“You have zero fighting experience, first of all,” Dean says, throwing one of his hands in the air, “Seriously? Do I really need to fucking explain why this is a bad idea? Sam, you tell her. She likes you.”

 

“Elvira,” Sam starts.

 

“Don’t ‘Elvira’ me,” I snap, “Look, I’m not really good at anything. I’ve just been a drain on you guys when you clearly already have a lot going on. I mean, I don’t know who this Jack character is, but I get the feeling he’s pretty crucial to finding your mom. And you essentially put finding him on hold to help me. So let me do you a solid, look really fucking hot tonight, and help you catch some ‘vampires’.”

 

“You know,” Sam says, “Putting air quotes around vampires kind of detracts from your whole speech.”

 

“Whatever, Samuel,” I say, but I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face because I know I’ve won. Time for me to see some supposed vampires. Who’s excited? Me, I am excited. To see how insane these motherfuckers are.

 

“If you die, it ain’t on me,” Dean spits out as he accelerates the car.

 

We whip into the hotel parking lot and glide into the parking spot. Dean jumps out of the car and slams the door behind him. I whistle long and low in appreciation for his spectacularly pissy attitude. For someone he can’t stand, he sure is awful against me dying.

 

“Sorry about Dean,” Sam says, “He’s been having a really rough go of it. We’ve lost a lot of people recently.”

 

I hum, “So I gather.”

 

“He just doesn’t want anymore blood on his hands,” Sam says, “Come on, let’s go inside. We’ve got to look at those cases to see if there’s anything else that made those women stand out, give us a better chance of getting one of those vamps to pick you.”

 

I follow Sam into the hotel room. Dean is in the bathroom, the door shut. Sam and I sit at the little table together. He flips open his laptop and pulls up the case file. We start going over the various deaths. All women, all dark haired. They all look high class, attractive. All those bills I can fit like Cinderella into a glass slipper, but so can half the other women in this town. I mean, we all know I’m special. But if there are vampires, then they need to see it too. Not just Sam needs to get the pleasure of my sparkling wit and dazzling charm. God, I’m gonna shoot myself in the face if ever say something like that aloud and unironically.

 

“It doesn’t seem like there’s anything special,” I say, “Just pretty brunettes.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “But … wait a sec. Hang on.”

 

He taps a few things into his computer, pulling up the browser. He pulls up some local news articles of missing persons. Then he finds the connection, all of these mean, attractive, relatively well-off, dudes, all boyfriends of the girls that died. I frown. They seemed to disappear around the same time the girls were found dead. They’re either suspects, or more victims.

 

Sam types a few more things into his computer until a bar pops up. A joint called Cupid’s, a local couples’ bar that’s actually quite popular. If I can connect the dots, I’m guessing these dead pairs of lovebirds visited said bar within x amount of time before going caput.

 

“Well, bait seems like more of a two person job now,” I say, “You game Sam?”

 

“No way,” Dean’s bark from behind me almost makes me jump, instead I spin around to face him. “No, I’ll be the one to play bait with you. Sam can track us with our phones. He’s better with that sorta nerdy thing anyways.”

 

“Alright, honeybuns,” I spit out, my voice dripping venom, “You better study up and learn how to please a woman real quick.”

 

“I already know how to please a lady thanks,” Dean bites out, “If you want I can give you a demonstration.”

 

“Anywhere, anytime, baby,” I shoot back, “Oh, wait, you’re so old we’d have to make sure you took your viagra beforehand.”

 

“I hate you,” Dean mutters.

 

“Right back at you,” I spit, “I have to go get ready.”

 

I take my bags into the bathroom and slam the door behind me. I switch the shower on and strip myself down into nothing. Once, I’m through showering, I slip on the sexy red dress I got. The top half is practically bandaged over my breasts, lifting them up. You can see my midriff, the sides of my breasts, a splash of the underside of my breasts. The straps wrap around over my shoulder and crisscross over my bare back, connecting to the skirt of the dress. It’s as formfitting as the top, hugging every curve of my ass, until it straightens out about halfway down my thigh and stops at my knee.

 

I leave my hair down, letting the natural curl hang gently down. When I do my make-up, I go for an over the top glow. Making sure my naturally think eyebrows are big and bold, my lids have a gentle shimmer, cat-eyeing my eyeliner, highlighting my sharp cheekbones and the bridge of my nose. I finish up with that red lipstick, sadly, the only lipstick I’ve got. But it’ll do.

 

When I leave the bathroom, Dean is dressed in a black suit and white button-down. No tie, the first couple buttons undone. I flash Dean my eyes, batting my eyelashes at him and then giving him the finger. I walk over to him and straighten out his jacket. He stands stiffly, not looking at me.

 

“Listen, Dickhead,” I say, my voice sweeter than honey, “If this is gonna be at all passable, you’re gonna have to pretend like you don’t have a dick up your ass every time I enter the room.”

 

“’Scuse me?” Dean says, a little bit of a stutter.

 

I lean towards him and stand on my tiptoes, “Pretend like you wanna have it out with me, like you don’t need any damn viagra.”

 

His eyes flash,. His hands move from hanging stiffly at his sides, to one grasping my waist gently, the other flush with the small of my back. His hands are warm and pleasantly calloused, his fingers firm around my waist right at my belly, his other hand right at the line where my skirt meets my body. He leans into me, pulling his hips flush against me and leaning down. I can feel my body warm under his touch and I fight to keep the evidence of my arousal from my face. If he figures out that I’m attracted to him, he’ll never let me live it down and quite frankly I’d rather saw off my pinky toe and then walk through a puddle of vinegar.

 

“Like this, Sweetheart?” he breathes against my neck.

 

“Better,” I say, grabbing his hands and dropping them back at his sides, “Don’t get too comfortable though. We both know I’m way out of your league.” I turn away from him.

 

“At least I’m not a slut, little miss stripper,” Dean chuckles.

 

I whirl around and slap him hard across the cheek. His face turns with the force of it. Asshole. I hate him. I hate his cocky self-indulgent attitude. But more than that, I hate myself for being attracted to him. I can feel my bod radiating anger. Any trace of arousal is gone.

 

“You know what?” I say, my voice cold no sarcasm, no honeyed sweetness, just empty and cold, “Yeah, I was stripper. And yeah, I liked it. I really liked being a stripper. But I’m no slut. A slut, sleeps with anything that’s got a dick. Well, Dean, you’d have to fuck my cold dead body before I slept with you.”

 

“No thanks, Princess,” Dean says, smirking, “I draw the line at necrophilia.”

 

I smile wickedly, “That’s right. You just like to take it up the ass like the little bitch you are.”

 

I walk away at that, slipping my feet into my heels. I spritz myself with some light perfume and then whirl around.

 

“I’m ready,” I say.

 

“Same here,” Dean growls, “Let’s get this over with.”

 

We leave the hotel. Dean drives, Sam rides shotgun, and I ride in the back again. It takes about twenty minutes to get to the bar. The sign is red, the logo featuring a man and a woman, bent towards each other, kissing. We drive past the front and park a little ways away.

 

“Why’d we park so far out?” I ask, leaning forward so my head is between the two.

 

“It’d be a little weird if someone saw Sammy drivin’ our ride away on our little date Princess,” Dean says.

 

“Right,” I say, leaning back into my seat.

 

We pull into a parking spot. I get out of the car with Dean, and Sam slides into the driver’s seat. Sam waves at the two of us, leaving us standing on the sidewalk awkwardly looking at each other. Dean holds out his hand and I look at it like he’s got AIDS.

 

“What?” I ask.

 

“Better hold hands,” he grouses, “You’re the one who said we needed to act like we liked each other.”

 

Reluctantly, I slip my hand into his. I have to act like I have feelings for this conceited son of a bitch. I lean against him a little as we walk so that anyone who happens to see us thinks we’re a couple. When we get to the bar, Dean opens the door for me. He gives me one of those charming grins he normally reserves for flirtatious busty gals.

 

“After you, Princess,” he says, using that nasty nickname he has for me in a completely different light.

 

“Thanks, babe,” I say, forcing myself to be sweet and not deck him in the balls.

 

He follows me in, placing a gentle hand on the small of my back and steering me towards the back. I stop and throw my arms around his neck and pulling myself against him. I smile against his neck, using this moment of ‘intimacy’ for cover.

 

“Let’s sit in the front, as much in the spotlight as possible,” I say, “Get as many eyes on us as possible.”

 

Dean’s hand slides down my back to cup one of my ass cheeks and I want to, so badly, just knee him where the sun don’t shine. But I also want to jump his bones right here on the floor. God, I need to get my shit together. And fast. I just need to remind myself I only want him for his body.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” I mutter against him, so low I’m positive only he can hear.

 

“Hey,” he presses his mouth against my ear, “You told me to make it real. Lemme tell you, if I saw any other woman in this dress, I’d be all over her like a hound in heat.”

 

I roll my eyes, “You know, only bitches have heat.”

 

“Whatever babe,” Dean says with a grin, spinning himself away from me a little and wrapping an arm around my waist. He leads me to a center table, directly under one of the spotlights. I may have overdid it a little with the highlighter, I realize. I can see the glint off my own cheeks.

 

“Listen,” he says, his voice low, “I’m sorry about earlier.”

 

“What do you mean?” I ask, leaning forward.

 

Dean places a gentle hand on my knee, looking me in the eyes like you would a lover, “Callin’ you a slut and all. It was a bit too much and I’m sorry, Elvira.” His hand slides higher up my thigh.

 

“I still hate you,” I say, my tone says I love you though.

 

“Mmm, right back atcha, Sweetheart,” he says.

 

A waiter comes up to us and asks if we’d like anything to drink. Dean orders a whisky on the rocks. I get a sex on the beach. Just for the name. And the look on Dean’s face when I say it out loud. He watches me with perked interest as the waiter as he walks away.

 

“A sex on the beach? Really?”

 

“Yeah,” I say, leaning towards him, pressing my hands against my chin, “Mixed drinks make me strip way better.”

 

“Planning a little show for me tonight, baby?” he asks, grinning.

 

“Oh, babe,” I reply, “Don’t you know it.”

 

We have a few more drinks. Get some little hor d’oeuvres that we snack on, exchanging playful banter, and having mild slightly sexual content. It’s been a couple hours. Some live singers have come and gone singing sweet ballads and sexually charged anthems. There’s a dance floor and a few couples have taken to it, swaying back and forth. I want to ask Dean to dance, but I feel like that would be too much, too intimate.

 

“Wanna go dance, baby?” Dean asks.

 

His fingers trace tiny little circles on the inside of my thigh. The contact makes me want to melt. It suddenly occurs to me that Dean knows exactly what he’s doing. Maybe dancing would be a better alternative to this. That way he has to behave himself.

 

“Yeah, I’d love to,” I say.

 

Dean stands first and offers me his hand. I take it and he pulls me to my feet. We head over to the dance floor together. He wraps his arms around my waist. I wrap mine around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder. He smells the same as the first time I met him. Like whisky, gunpowder, and leather. Even in a suit he smells like that. I attempt to turn my thoughts from him. I mean, Sam probably smells the same.

 

“We’re being watched,” he whispers into my ear, then he distances himself a little from me.

 

“Mmm,” I hum, “That sounds … almost too perfect.”

 

He pulls me in tightly to him again, his face tilted down to mine. I lift my face up to his, our lips almost touching, but not quite. His hands shift lower touching the line where my panties should be. Key word: should. The look on Dean’s face morphs into something. His eyes scanning my face. His hand dips a little lower. I almost stop him, but remember we’re supposed to be a couple.

 

“You naughty little stripper,” Dean whispers with a grin, “You’re not wearing any underwear.”

 

I smile up at him, “Of course not. You think this dress leaves anything to the imagination, babe?”

 

He shakes his head, “Dirty.” Dean puts his face down low, his mouth against my ear lobe, “Let’s get out of here, Princess.”

 

It almost feels real. This little dance we’re doing. Dean leaves a stack of bills on our table and leads me out the front door. The night air is far to cold for this dress and I start to shiver. Dean pulls me in closer to his side and wraps his arm around my shoulders. He turns his face into my hair, his breath warming my neck.

 

  
“We’re being followed,” he whispers, and I let out a girlish giggle, “Listen, Princess, we’re gonna let them take us. We’re gonna scream on cue. We’re gonna do all the steps. Got it?”

 

“Oh, you’re bad,” I say, pitching my voice up a little.

 

I grab the front of his suit and pull myself closer to him. My breasts are flush against his chest. His eyes dart down, and his pupils dilate. I can feel his breathing quicken. Oh, what a reaction. This is the first time I’ve gotten a reaction out of him like this. Payback’s a bitch motherfucker. I lean against him some more, using my hands to trace down his muscled torso, my fingers snaking into his belt loops. I touch the skin just under the waistband of his boxers.

 

“You gotta stop that,” he hisses at me.

 

“Why, baby?” I ask, “I’m having so-.”

 

A hand wraps around my mouth and I’m getting dragged from behind. I scream through the hand over my mouth. Not because Dean told me to, but because I’m actually terrified. The last thing I see is this gorgeous model-like woman wrapping her arms around Dean, and smacking him on the head with something that I can’t quite make out.

 


	10. Holy Shit Vampires Are Real What the Fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So firstly, this fic is gonna become part of a series in case you haven't noticed that yet. Secondly, I'm thinking of adding some one-shots and chapter re-writes in Dean's POV. Seriously, lemme know what you think of that. The idea's been bouncing around in my head while I'm finishing up Ch 16. For ... reasons. ;^) Wow, I'm lame. Anyways, love hearing from you guys. Comments, kudos, etc are all super fucking appreciated. Lots of Love, your friendly neighborhood ghost

**Chapter 10: Holy Shit Vampires are Real What the Fuck**

 

My eyes flicker open, but my vision is still blurry. I’m tied to a pole in a big warehouse looking place. I try to move my arms, try to move at all, but I’m tied firmly in place. Not only that but my head is throbbing, pulsating behind my eyes. All of a sudden, a very attractive man appears before me. He grins, like the Chesire cat almost. I whine, just a little. This is worse than depending on the boys. Far. Far worse.

 

“Well hello there,” he hisses, “You’re the prettiest one yet.”

 

“Bite me,” I choke out.

 

I hear a chuckle behind me, “Honey, he’s gonna do just that.”

 

“Daniel?” that name is the first to slip out of mouth, like a whine-y shriek. I know. I know. Pretty bad as fas as cover names, but it's the first thing that cropped up in my brain.

 

“No need Elvira,” he says, “They already know who I am. So cut the shit.”

 

“Dean Winchester,” the blond model like woman shows up, “Out of all the vampire nests in all of Oregon, you stumble in to mine.”

 

“Your last name is Winchester? Like the gun-maker?” I ask.

 

“Not the time Elvira,” Dean barks.

 

She comes around to my side of the pole, “And his little whore too. Where’d you come from sweet thing?”

 

She’s gorgeous. Long honey blond hair, big dewy blue eyes framed by long luscious lashes, a full pouty mouth. She’s even got the hourglass body. To be honest, all these guys are weirdly attractive. The men are relatively clean-cut, with good jawlines and fabulous hair. Dean didn’t tell me these were Twilight freaks. If he had, I probably would have been even more keen to get rid of them. I hated to be that person, but Twilight can suck my dick.

 

Now, I have no idea what gave me the absolute nerve. But I just let my mouth go running. Mark my words, the reason I end up dead, is gonna be because I say the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time.

 

“They picked me up in a graveyard,” I say, smiling. “And I’ve said this so many times my head is startin’ to spin. I’m a stripper. Not a hooker. Don’t mistake your job for mine, honey.”

 

Before I can, register it, she decks me in the face, “Cute.”

 

I can feel blood start to dribble out of my mouth. I think my tooth cut through my lips. I probe the wound with my tongue, and nearly scream in pain. Instead, I smile. The back of my head hit the pole and there’s gonna be a nasty mark there. Oh well, pissed her off, so it was worth it. Almost as satisfying as pissing Dean off. Almost.

 

“Nice one, Elvira,” Dean mutters, “Piss off Devil Wears Prada.”

 

“I’m surprised you’ve seen that movie,” I reply.

 

“It was … on cable,” he replies.

 

“So tell me Winchester,” the model-like woman (who I have dubbed Miranda Priestly) says, “What are you doing with this pretty little thing in in my part of town. Oh, and, where’s your brother?”

 

“How bout you go fuck yourself?” Dean shoots back.

 

“Ooh, not nice words,” she coos, “Maybe I’ll just have to beat you into watching your tongue. Well, not you of course. You might actually enjoy that, masochistic prick you are. Her mouth is just as filthy as yours though. Maybe I’ll take it out on her. Maybe she’ll end up dead.”

 

I laugh bubbles out of my throat, “You think that matters to him? Oh no, honey. He’d probably celebrate if I stopped existing. So don’t go holding your breath.”

 

“Not that any of that matters, Queen of the Undead,” Dean spits out, “Because I’m gonna personally put each and every one of you bloodsuckers on ice.”

 

“Really?” she asks, crouching down, “And how do you plan on doing that?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see her tilt her head and smell Dean’s neck. An inhuman hiss gargles from her mouth. I crane my neck to watch as a set of retractable fangs slide over her human teeth. Oh. My. God. Vampires do exist. But this shit ain’t no Dracula.

 

“Hey Dean?” my voice comes out very small.

 

“I’m a little tied up here Elvira,” he grunts out.

 

“No kidding,” I spit, “I just wanted to let you know I believe you now. And also, this may have been a poor decision on my part.”

 

“No shit, Sherlock,” he growls out.

 

Miranda Priestly stalks over to me, “Enough chitchat. You guys can have her. I bet she tastes divine. I’m gonna add a Winchester to my little harem.”

 

Why am I not surpried at all that her goal is to build a reverse harem? Two men (male vampires) lunge towards me, each wrapping a tight fist around one of my arms. I make things as hard for them as possible, screaming and thrashing. I hear Dean yell my name, but they pull me into a separate room and slam the door. The two men, who would be attractive under normal circumstances, creep towards me.. Their eyes are near dark with lust and hunger. They toss me onto the floor. Suddenly, I’m also regretting my decision not to wear underwear. Also, why is it that in high intesity situations THAT is what my mind chooses to think about? Not, you know, not dying. High-five me, for prioritizing. 

 

“You look delicious, darling,” one says.

 

He reaches out and takes a hand to my ankle, gently caressing it. My skin crawls and I want to scoot myself as far away from these creepy bastards as possible. I seem to be frozen in fear though. How convenient. Even my thoughts are sarcastic. Wow. I’m a real winner. He slides his hand from my ankle up and up all the way to the edge of my dress. His fingers slip under the hem. His eyes are entirely focused on my lower body. Thank god for their downstairs brains. I kick out with one of my stilettos and catch him across the face. If my aim was true, I got at least one of his eyes. He howls in pain and falls away from me. His friend lunges for me, but thanks to stripper training, I’m already on my feet. Also thanks to being a stripper, I knee him in his balls. He stumbles away from me and I punch him in his throat, to stun him enough to get me out of here.

 

I pull off my heels and I throw the door open to see Sam grappling with Miranda Priestly. There are four dead bodies with severed heads. Dean is still tied up. I grab a random knife off the floor and cut Dean’s bonds. He rips them off with surprising speed and jumps to his feet.

 

“Nice job, Princess,” he says to me. And I smile.

 

“They’re still alive in there,” I say. “But, I got ‘em off me. One of those freaks may or may not be missing an eye.”

 

Dean picks up a machete off the ground, a wicked glint in his eye, “I’ll go take care of ‘em for ya.”

 

I hear a thump. I whirl around to see the head of Miranda Priestly roll towards me and stop at my feet. Her mouth is frozen in a vicious snarl revealing those creepy second teeth. Not so Twilight-y anymore, are you? Dean strolls out of the side room where the two guys took me.

 

“Are we all clear?” Sam calls.

 

“Good as gold, Sammy,” Dean throws his arms wide. “Ya know, it’s been awhile since we’ve done a case like this. Feels good. By the way, Princess, you really did a number on that motherfucker's face. One eye was just gouged, the other was sliced through. Nice for an amateur. And one who didn’t even believe.”

 

“Being a stripper really has come in handy,” I say.

 

“That’s one sentence I never thought I’d hear,” Sam says, coming up beside me, “How’re you doing?”

 

I smile, “I’m okay actually. It’s comforting to know you two aren’t psychopaths.”

 

Sam chuckles, “Well, if you stick around for awhile you might just change your mind about that one.”

 

I tilt my head back and forth, “Fair enough. So, um, if Vampires are real … what else is real?”

 

“Pretty much, everything,” Sam says, with a shrug.

Dean appears on my other side, “Except Bigfoot. Bigfoot’s a hoax.”

 

“I am so beyond relieved to know that a peaceful giant vegetarian ape-man does not exist,” I say dryly, “Thank you Dean, for the great amount of comfort you have provided.”

 

“You’re welcome, Princess,” Dean smacks my shoulder, “Let’s get on the road, I miss my own bed.”


	11. A Lead On A Boy Named Jack (Who Happens To Be Lucifer’s Son)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okkkkkaaaayyyy ... so I was gonna post this chapter days ago, but my computer freaked out and deleted chapers 18 and 19 and I've been trying to recover them. No such luck. Well, go figure. Anyways, I was just like fuck it today and decided to post this anyways. Because I felt bad. Anyways, let me in on your thoughts. It helps keep me writing. And tell me what you think of the idea of attaching one shots and chapter re-writes in Dean's POV. I won't do it unless there's a demand for it ... because I'm fuckin lazy. Comments, kudos, etc are all really appreciated as is every reader. Anyways, lots of love, your friendly neighborhood ghost.

**Chapter 11: A Lead On A Boy Named Jack (Who Happens To Be Lucifer’s Son)**

 

Once we’re back at the bunker, I think all of us shower at least twice. The next morning, after doing some light grocery shopping, Dean makes some sort of joke about needing to get back to reality before going to make a call to this girl whose name is Patience. The boys say she’s the granddaughter of an old family friend who died. She’s also a psychic. They think maybe she can help find this Jack kid. And, um, crazy update on Jack: kid’s Lucifer’s son. Like actual Lucifer. Devil horns and a pitchfork. Big bad fallen angel. My whole life is a lie. And I don’t just mean that ironically anymore.

 

We’re seated at the table in the main hall passing around a bowl of popcorn and beers. Well, they drink beer. I made Dean get me some wine. I’m in a sweatshirt and some sweatpants, but the boys are dressed like they’ll have to take off at any minute. I take a handful of the popcorn and set it on the table in front of me, popping a piece in my mouth here and there.

 

“So, how long have you guys been doing this? The whole hunting monsters shebang that is?” I ask, crossing my legs in the chair.

 

“Since we were kids,” Sam replies, “Pretty much since we were old enough to competently hold guns.”

 

“How’d it start?” I ask, munching on a piece of corn.

 

“Our mom, she died in a house fire set by a demon in Sam’s nursery,” Dean says, “Our dad became obsessed with finding the thing that killed her. And here we are.”

 

“But your mom is alive?” I say. The more questions they answer, the more I seem to have.

 

“Now, she is,” Sam replies, “A year and a half ago, we fought God’s sister, The Darkness. Well, long story short, she brought our mom back from the dead.”

 

“Who’s now … in another dimension …” I look between these two clowns for any indication that they’re screwing with me, “You guys must live very complicated lives.”

 

“You’re tellin’ me,” Dean snorts.

 

Just then, a cellphone ring cuts into the conversation. Dean holds up his phone to show us (well, Sam), a name. Jody Mills. Dean answers the phone, puts it on speaker, and sets it on the table. They exchange greetings. Jody sounds like an older woman, kind of mom-ish.

 

“I got somethin’ for ya,” she says, “A friend of mine with Bismarck PD says a local artist was found dead with his eyes burned out.”

 

Um … gross.

 

“Sounds angel-y,” Deans says, leaning against the table more.

 

“Yeeeaahh,” she says, “Except there was a witness.”

 

She goes on to tell them that the victim’s girlfriend placed someone at the scene of the crime. And that that someone was probably their missing Jack friend. I look between Sam and Dean.

 

“This is that kid you guys have been looking for, right?” I say, “In North Dakota of all places?”

 

“Is someone there with you?” Jody asks, her voice a weird combination of suspicion and curiosity. Much like a mom.

 

“Uh, yeah. Jody, this is El Castle,” Sam says, “We kinda found her in a graveyard.”

 

“In a graveyard?” she asks, more surprised now than anything.

 

“It’s kind of a long story,” Dean says, “Listen, Jody, we’ll fill you in later. We gotta prep to hit the road. If this really is Jack, we’ve gotta catch him before he hightails it out of there.”

 

“Fair enough, boys,” she says with a warm chuckle, “Talk to ya later. Nice to meet you El.”

 

“Nice to meet you too Ms. Mills,” I say before Dean hangs up the call with a click.

 

“Go pack,” Dean says, facing me, “Be ready to go in thirty minutes.”

 

We’re on the road in fifteen. Mostly because Dean kept hounding me. I threw some clothes together and some hygiene stuff and booked it to the Impala. Sam and Dean were already there, waiting for me. They must have like Tonks level packing skills. I throw my stuff into the trunk and dive into the back seat. As soon as my door is shut, Dean steps on it and we’re on the road.

 

About a mile out from the apartment building, Sam and Dean swerve into a gas station to change into their suits. Both of them have these long dark trench coats, and man, do they add a certain something to these guys. I poke my head between them and smile.

 

“What’s my cover?” I ask, my voice a little too cheery.

 

“Oh, no,” Dean says, his voice every bit asshole again, “You’re waitin’ in the car, Princess.” Well, it was worth a try.

 

Just when I think he might not be suck a pain in the ass he pulls something like this. I mumble dick under my breath and I know they both heard me. Sam smiled. We pull up in front of the apartment building, Sam and Dean get out of the car, slamming their doors in unison. I throw myself against the back seat. Like a child, I know. But I really wanted to go.

 

I lay down in the back seat and put my headphones in, pulling up a playlist called _VIBIN_. It’s a pretty boppin playlist. Before I know it, I singing along. Not just like, normal quiet singing, but true jiving from the soul singing along. I do hand motions along with the bass and drums. I suppose this is what happens when I’m bored.

 

Right as I’m throwing my hands up for a beat drop in _Do Re Mi_ by _Blackbear_ , Dean’s face appears above me. Before I can stop myself (not that I really tried), I whack Dean in the nose. I’m still singing along too. I see his mouth move in curses, but I can’t really hear him over the song. All of a sudden, the song cuts out and I see Dean holding my earbuds. I glare at him.

 

“Hey, what gives?” I say, snatching them back.

 

“You’re the one who tried to break my nose,” Dean growls.

 

“Oh please, grow up,” I shoot back, “I barely touched you. What do you want, anyways?”

 

“We’ve got a lead on Jack,” Dean says, rubbing his nose resentfully, “I’m gonna go get some coffee. You want some?”

 

“Yes, please,” I say.

 

“Same thing as last time?” he asks.

 

“Yes, dear,” I shoot back. I give him the finger as he walks away … because I can.

 

Dean disappears just as Sam gets into the car. Sam reaches under the seat and pulls out this ancient leather bound notebook, filled with scraps of extra paper, and all sorts of other stuff it looks like. I lean forward to read over Sam’s shoulder. A lot of the information is hand-written, in a cramped scrawl. Next to it though is a printed article, complete with a picture of a Dream catcher. The whole article is about dream walking. Although the information seems a bit vague.

 

“Did you guys do all that?” I ask, gesturing to the notebook.

 

“Some of it, but not most of it,” Sam replies.

 

“What’s with the dream walking stuff?”

 

“We think Jack is looking for dream walkers,” Sam says, “Our mom and – well, and Lucifer are trapped in another world. A world where Dean and I were never born. It’s like a never ending apocalypse there.”

 

I blink, “Interesting. It’s funny, that world must have been the exact same as yours until a fixed point in time, you know?”

 

Dean gets back in the car. Sam starts talking about dream walking, but Dean interrupts him. The conversation turns dark really quickly. It seems like Dean is afraid that Jack will turn against them, that he’s looking for his dad. Who is trapped in the apocalypse world. It boils down to if they’re prepared to kill him if he goes dark side, and the unsaid answer is, well, no. They’re not. I listen as much as I can, but a lot of it goes over my head. I feel like I’ve been tossed into the deep end of the swimming pool without knowing how to swim.

 

“Okay, well, let’s go to a reservation,” Dean says, “Talk to a chief, or a – a tribal leader?”

 

“Or … we talk to a dream walker …” Sam says.

 

“I’m betting you know where one is,” I say.

 

Dean jumps, “God, why are you so fuckin’ quiet?”

 

“I’m just listening,” I say, “I’m just trying to make sense of what’s what. Because man, you’re guys’ lives would give soap operas a run for their money.”

 

“Yes, I know where one is,” Sam says, “Kaia Nieves. She’s in a rehab not too far from here.”

 

Sam gives Dean directions to the rehab. It takes less the ten minutes to get there. Sam and Dean pull up front. I refuse to get left behind, so instead of asking Dean, I just get out of he car. He doesn’t notice I’m following them, until we get to the door.

 

“Elvira, get back in the car,” Dean growls, without turning around.

 

“No, I’m coming -,” something pulls at me, very hard.

 

The pain is sharp pain between between ribs. I fall onto one of the handrails, grabbing it. My breathing comes in shallow gasps. Dean grabs me and props me up. My hands grip on his sleeve. He holds me steady, and I look up at him.

 

“Memory?” he asks.

 

I shake my head, “Out back. Something, out back.”

 

I moan in pain, and my knees buckle a little. Dean catches me again.

 

“Go!” I bite out, “Just go! I’ll catch up.”

 

“I’m not leavin’ you here alone,” Dean growls, “Specially not if you’re about to pass out and have a seizure.”

 

I hold myself together. Pushing myself, up onto my feet, I lock my knees in place. I force myself to walk through the front doors, Every step is painful, every step bringing me closer to the back, the throbbing burning gets worse and worse. I force my breathing to even out. Dean’s got one arm wrapped around my shoulders. When we pass the knocked out guard, we know we’re on the right track.

 

“Sam, go for the door,” Dean barks, as he passes me to Sam. I stumble just a little. Then he looks at me, “I’ve got you.”

 

I nod, tears starting to squeeze out of my eyes against my will. Dean wraps his arm more tightly around me, using most of his weight and stability to support me. We follow Sam out the back door. The pain is so intense it feels like I’m being crushed beneath a boulder, like gravity has quadrupled. I hear Sam yell _Jack_ , and a young boy respond with Sam and Dean’s names. I start to fall, really fall, or maybe it just feels like I’m falling. No, I’m being lifted. Dean’s holding me in his arms. I watch his lips move in the shape of my name. The shape of my name. The shape of my name. My thoughts start to echo and repeat, stop-stop and. My thoughts start to echo and-and. I’m pretty sure this is how I’m going to die die die die die die die.

 

Instead of floating out of my body this time, it feels like my soul is being ripped from it. I see a child, with deep brown curls and large blue eyes, running towards a slender blonde brown-eyed woman. The woman’s hair is in an elegant knot. Something clicks, and I know she’s my mom. Child-me throws her arms around my mom’s legs and buries her face in her skirts.

 

“ _Elvira, ma fleur,_ ” she whispers in a thick French accent, “ _Je t’aime tellement ma douce fille. Vous allez devenir beau et gentil. Un jour, trop tôt, tu recontreras ton père. Et il vous montrera qui vous êtes vraiment_.”

 

What’s weirder is that I know what she’s saying. _Elvira, my flower. I love you so much my darling daughter. You will grow to be beautiful and kind. One day, too soon, you will meet your father and he will show you who you really are_. Child me smiles and peeks out of her skirts. My mom runs a hand through my curls. She heaves me up into her arms and kisses my forehead. We start walking the direction I know will lead us home.

 

I kiss her cheek, “ _Maman stupide, Papa est juste à la maison._ ” _Silly Mama, Papa is just at home_.

 

“I know dear,” she says, smiling, “Let’s return home. Maybe we should make some bread for your Papa.”

 

The scene shifts. I’m facing Ryan, tears streaming down my face. I slap him, hard across the cheek and I’m about to do it again, but he catches my hand. My face is crimson, flushed with anger or sorrow, I’m not sure. He stares at me with such intensity. I’m in a pale pink silk dressing gown, so I know I just finished with a show.

 

“I can’t believe you,” the words are dry from my throat.

 

“El, please,” he begs, “I love you. Don’t do this.”

 

“You slept with one of the girls! How dare you say you love me!?” I scream. I watch myself push Ryan away from me, shoving hard. He falls into the dresser behind him.

 

“Why do you even care!?” he yells back, “Why? You’re a stripper! And you’re not just doing it for college anymore! You like it! You like the attention! You like watching other men drool over your body! You whore!”

 

The cold rage that over takes me in that situation is so intense, I can feel it, even separated from myself. The voice that comes out of my mouth isn’t mine. It’s the voice of someone beyond reason, beyond control. The voice of someone who is so enraged that nothing else matters.

 

“I’m not a whore. I’m a stripper,” the words slide out of my mouth, “If you want a whore, talk to Angela. Oh wait, she already demonstrated her wares to you. For the record Ryan, if I ever see you here again, I will cut off your dick and feed it to you. Now, get out.”

 

“Elvira! Please!” he begs.

 

I watch myself grab the nearest thing, a bottle of perfume, and chuck it at his head, “I said leave you little bitch!” It shatters on the dresser behind him as he ducks.

 

The scene changes yet again. I’m in a black overcoat, walking through the rain outside. I’m crying still from my encounter with Ryan. I’m crossing the street. I hear the horn before I whip my head to see the headlights. And then nothing at all. I don’t so much snap back into my body but ooze into it, dripping piece by piece, and with every piece, my body freaks out even more. My head starts to throb, each stab of pang making my body convulse.

 

I can feel my body thrashing, my head lolling. The lack of control over my own body scares me. Scares me more than the vampires, more than dying. Somewhere distantly, I can hear someone calling my name over and over. Eventually the reaction my body is having slows, having just an occasional thrash until I’m lying wherever I am limply. I try to open my eyes, but it feels like my lids are glued shut. I low grown comes out of my mouth. Shut up. Shut up. Someone says my name, I feel a hand on my body. I can feel tears streaming down my cheeks. I swear to god if I wet myself I’m gonna throw myself off a bridge.

 

“Elvira,” it’s Dean’s voice I hear. It fades in and out. This is the worst it’s ever been. His name rolls off my tongue, unbidden. I hate myself.

 

“Elvira. I’m-.”his voice fades out again before I can catch what he says.

 

Suddenly, a gush of fresh air seizes my lungs. I choke on the air, coughing so hard I’m surprised I don’t spit out a chunk of my lungs. My eyes shoot open and everything shoots into focus so fast that I feel nauseous. My head is resting on Dean’s lap, with the rest of my body stretched across the middle seat and Sam. I’m gonna puke.

 

“Pull over,” I groan.

 

“We are, Princess,” I hear Dean and his voice is oddly un-sarcastic. I push myself up on my hands, and haul myself over Dean’s lap and fling open his door. I push my body half out the door and make it just in time. I puke all over the road, the vomit dribbling out of my mouth. Someone pulls my hair back just as heave and throw up again.

 

“I’m sorry,” I sob.

 

“Shh, just finish getting’ it out of your system,” Dean says, his voice considerably less gentle.

 

When I’m sure I’m through, I crawl back into the car and Dean slams the door shut. I lay my head back on his lap trying to adjust .

 

“Princess, Sam’s gonna have to take you,” Dean says, the sarcastic edge once again in his tone, “You’re killin’ my legs.”

 

I force myself to sit up and roll over onto Sam’s lap. The taller brother, pulls me against him and I lay there, trying to adjust.

 

“What’s wrong with her?” a young childlike voice asks.

 

“We’re not really sure Jack,” Sam responds.

 

“Only that it’s a gigantic pain in the ass,” Dean drolls.

 

“Oh my god,” a girl shrieks from the back. Just then, I feel the car swerve hard and see bright headlishts. Sam pulls me tight against him to keep me from flying off the bench.

 

“You got her Sam?” Dean’s voice is downright pissed.

 

“I got her,” Sam says.

 

“What’s happening?” my voice is hoarse and I nearly break into coughing again.

 

“We’re being chased,” the young child-like voice says.

 

“By who?” the words are hard to get out.

 

“Angels,” the kid respnds, “We took Kaia from them.”

 

“Kaia?”

 

“The dream walker,” Sam says.

 

“Against my will,” I hear a girl mutter from the back.

 

I force myself to sit up, “How long was I out for?”

 

“A few hours,” Dean says, “What the hell was that, by the way? It’s never been that bad.”

 

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” I shoot back.

 

A cute boy with a classic blonde side-part, part of his hair flopping into his face, wide inquisitive blue-green eyes, and a full mouth pokes his head over the seat. He stares at me with those wide eyes. We swing into a shipyard, pulling down fast. We pull right in front of a ship.

 

“Alright, everybody out,” Dean barks, then he turns to me, “Do you need help?”

 

I shake my head. I’m not gonna be a burden anymore. I force myself up, and out of the car after Sam. My legs are shaky, but I lock my knees into place. I stagger out of into the open. Sam starts herding the boy and a young Native American girl into an abandoned ship. I stagger after then. But wait … where’s Dean? He’s standing in the little clearing, a triangular silver blade.

 

“Dean?” I call out. He turns towards me and I yell, “What are you doing?”

 

“I’m gonna hold them off, Princess,” he shouts back, “Get inside with Sam. Help him ward the place.”

 

“I – Dean,” something holds me back, my eyes locked onto him, standing there staring at me, “Be careful.”

 

“Honey, careful is my middle name,” he shoots back.

 

I roll my eyes and limp into the ship. Sam and the others are already heading upstairs. I start to follow them, but each step is like a mountain. The amount of energy this is consuming is ridiculous. Halfway there I’m winded and drained, my legs ache and my head is starting to throb. An arm wraps around my shoulder and begins helping me up the remaining stair. I crane my neck to see Dean. He doesn’t look at me, just plows forward with a grim expression. When we get to the floor, Sam is painting red markings on the walls. I lurch over to him.

 

“What can I do?” I demand.

 

Sam tosses me a can of spray paint and his phone, “Paint that and the next one over there. And, El, it’s got to be exact.”

 

I nod. I take his phone and the spray-paint over to the wall opposite him. There, I copy exactly the strange markings. I do it as fast as I can without screwing up. Dean looks over my shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, just nods his head once. Now, if this were a movie. I’d pause it here and give some dramatic commentary about how this was the moment I knew we were fucked. Because, man, are we royally fucked. I don’t think even Princess Kate has been as royally fucked as we. The whole boat seems to shake, the markings we painted on the wall glow and then tham. They fade. But then the process starts over.

 

“They’re breaking the warding,” Sam yells.

 

“If they get up here, they’ll kill you all and take me!” Jack bursts.

 

“No, they won’t,” Kaia says firmly, “You said I could help you open the door to another world, right?”

 

“Yes …”

 

“Then let’s do it, let’s get out of here,” Kaia looks both afraid and hopeful.

 

Sam jumps in, “Can you take us to our mom?”

 

Dean looks between Jack and Sam before fixing a harsh gaze on the boy and shouting, “Can you do it?”

 

Jack seems almost nervous, “I don’t know. I think so.”

 

“What if something goes wrong?” Sam says. Ever the logical one.

 

The boat shakes again and Dean looks around before giving Sam a look and barking,“Somethin’ already is goin’ wrong! Jack! Do it!”

 

Jack pulls up a chair for Kaia, asking her, “Are you ready?”

 

She looks at him, scared, but full of trust, “No. Let’s go.”

 

He puts his hands on her head. A thrum of power fills the room. From here, everything happens so fast. Sam and Dean shout to hurry as the wards begin to melt. The thrum of power gets louder and louder. Kaia screams, long and loud. A shriek of pure terror and the brightest light you’ll ever see. Then weightlessness. Then … nothing.


	12. No, Sam, It’s a Lizard. It Tastes Like a Lizard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooo! Another update because I'm like that. Does anyone even read these? Probably not. But here you go. Have a slice of pizza.

**Chapter 12: No, Sam, It’s a Lizard. It Tastes Like a Lizard**

 

I wake up on the ground covered in a thin layer of leaves. I’m sprawled out on my back. My left hand is resting on somebody’s chest, my right is in the dirt. I push myself up. Beneath my hand is lying Dean. His face is angled away from me, but I’m pretty sure he’s still out. I crawl over to him, pushing the leaves off his body. I tug on his shirt, trying to wake him.

 

“Dean,” my voice comes out hoarsely. I clear it and say his name again, pulling on his shirt. His eye lids start to flutter. I say his name again. He mutters something in his dazed state. And I think it’s my name. Maybe he’s starting to wake up. I pull on his shirt again. Say his name again. His eyes open slowly.

 

“Elvira?” his voice is as hoarse as mine.

 

I breathe out his name, “You’re awake. Good. We have to find Sam.” I start trying to get him to his feet. However, I am not particularly strong and he is particularly muscled. So it’s much harder than it would seem.

 

“I was having the best dream,” he whispers, staring at me.

 

He’s still very very out of it, his eyes glazed over. Okay. Weird. I pause in my efforts to get him, suddenly curious as to what this dream was about. I lean towards him so I can look him in the face.

 

“What was it about?” I ask.

 

He looks confused for a second, then he starts staring at me again. His hand comes up and brushes my cheek. I absolutely freeze. Now, it’s my turn to stare at him. For a moment, our eyes meet and he seems totally lucid. He must be more worse for wear than I thought. His hand drops back down and his head lolls back. I cry out in frustration, pulling on his shirt again.

 

“Dean? El?” I hear Sam groan behind me.

 

“Oh thank god,” I breathe, then raising my voice I call out, “Sam! I’m trying to get Dean up.”

 

I hear some rustling, the sound of someone pretty big falling, and then more rustling. I keep yanking on Dean’s shirt, trying to get him to wake up for real. Sam appears beside me. He pinches Dean’s arm and even that doesn’t stir the guy. Sam sits back on his heels, looking at his brother like he’s an enigma. I look over both my shoulders. I have an uneasy feeling. A feeling that prickles right between my shoulder blades, like we’re being watched. And not by something friendly.

 

“I think we should get out of the open,” I say, “It doesn’t … feel good.”

 

Sam nods, “I agree. I’m gonna have to carry him though. And you’re gonna have to get him on my back.”

 

I nod. Sam crouches down. After fifteen minutes of painstaking, dragging and lifting, we successfully get Dean over Sam’s shoulder in a very sloppy fireman’s carry. But hey, whatcha gonna do. Sam stands and half stumbles for a split second before steadying himself. Together, the two of us (and an unconscious Dean) trek into the very jungle-y forest. We make it and hour, maybe two, in before Sam has to sit and rest.

 

“Let’s just stay here for the night,” I whisper as Sam set Dean down on the ground.

 

I pick up some branches and form a little arrow pointing the direction we came from. Just in case we somehow get disoriented as after effects or something. Dean groans loudly. And that makes me uneasy. In fact, any amount of noise we make sends my skin crawling. Here, the best option is silence. Here, is not like their home where they know all the bad things and know how to kill them. Here, they’re just as useless as me.

 

Sam starts building a fire, “So, uh, what happened? When you past out? Usually you have some sort of memory.”

 

I sit down on a half rotted log beside Dean, watching Sam clear out a circle of debris, “I … did. I remembered my mom. She was French. That's why I could read it. I'm pretty sure I'm fluent. And I remembered what happened between Ryan and I.”

 

“Ryan?”

 

“The guy from that picture I had Dean toss when you guys first found me,” I reply, “He cheated on me with another stripper.”

 

“Ouch.”

 

“Yeah,” I say, “But it’s fine because I got my revenge.”

 

Sam pauses and looks at me, “How?”

 

I laugh, “Not by murder Sam. Relax. He wanted me back. Badly. And I just wouldn’t take him. There was a time when he came to every show just to watch me, front row seat. And I would look him in the eyes and I would strip, as sensually as possible. I even gave him a lap dance a couple times, just to fuck with him. I would breathe down his neck, and touch him. But he couldn’t touch me. Touching the strippers was a big no no, he would have been banned.”

 

“You might actually be evil,” Sam jokes.

 

I look at him, dead in the eye, “Never underestimate the power of a mind fuck. Mental torment can be as effective, if not more, than physical torment. It almost killed me though.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I’d leave each show a wreck,” I say quietly, “I ended up getting hit by a car on my way out one night.”

 

Sam stares at me, “Do you think …?”

 

He doesn’t have to finish, I know what he’s asking. I shrug, “Maybe. I really don’t know. Honestly, I’m not positive the car actually hit me. I just saw the headlights coming at me.” I pick at a pile of grossness with the toe of my shoe and avoid Sam’s gaze.

 

“Do you know why you’re body reacted like that?” Sam asks, “That was … well, it freaked us out Elvira. You started falling and Dean caught you. He was pretty shaken up. And after finding out about our mom …”

 

“What’d you find out about your mom?” I ask.

 

Sam smiles, but it fades quickly, “She’s alive. But not in good shape.”

 

“Sam?” Dean groans out.

 

I look down at the man beside me and spit out, “Do I look like I have a dick?”

 

He blinks a few times, and shoots back, “Maybe.”

 

I don’t respond. Instead, I keep picking at the dead debris with my toe. Sam gets down and helps Dean sit up. The older brother seems to have taken this whole thing a lot harder than Sam or I. I feel fine, like nothing’s even happened. Sam, he seems just a little rocky. But, well, Dean just barely woke up.

 

“No smartass come back?” Dean demands. He’s now sitting up, his voice cracking every so often.

 

I don’t say anything. Dean stands up slowly, almost falling again, and stretches. He’s a little bow-legged. I’ve just noticed that. My mind flashes back to him touching my cheek for some reason. I can feel my face catch fire at the thought, so I turn my head down, away from the boys. I’ll be damned if they see me blush. I’m a stripper, I need to get my shit together.

 

“What’s up her ass?” Dean asks Sam.

 

“She’s just … still getting through the stuff she saw,” Sam replies, almost like he’s waiting for me to stop him. I don’t. Better Dean think that’s what this is about. Although, I guess it’s half true.

 

“Speakin’ of that,” Dean says, “It’s never been so … violent before.”

 

“I know,” I say quietly.

 

“What’d ya see, Princess?” his voice is every bit sarcasm and salt.

 

“None of your business, Winchester,” I snap. I stand up, “Stop asking. I’m gonna climb a tree and see what I can see.”

 

“You sure?” Sam asks.

 

“If I can pole dance, I can climb a damn tree,” I seethe.

 

I look at the two brothers. Dean looks a little taken aback. Sam just looks cautious, like he’s found a spooked rhinoceros. I roll my eyes and stalk towards the nearest tree that looks the tallest. Before I start climbing, I look back at the boys and fix Sam with a firm glare.

 

“Breathe a word of what I told you to him and I will torment you for weeks,” I say, “And trust me, it won’t be with lap dances.”

 

I start climbing the tree. Because of being a stripper, it is easier, but it’s still no piece of cake. There are no real branches until about half-way up. There are small hand holds and grooves that I use to propel myself upwards. Once I get to the branches, things get a thousand times easier. I hike myself up as far as the tree as I can get without the branches bowing beneath my weight. When I look out, all I see is a see of trees. Nothing else. Just a see of trees. The occasional small clearing, but nothing worth mentioning. I stay up there for awhile, perched in the branches. I’m not sure how much time passes before I hear Sam calling my name, long enough for it to get dark.

 

I start shimmying my way down, hopping from branch to branch until I run out of branches. When I get to the body of the tree, I start using my powerful leg muscles to get me down. When I’m low enough that I won’t hurt myself, I drop to the ground with a thump. Sam and Dean both look over towards me. They have a fire roaring between them.

 

“Did you, ah, see anything?” Sam asks.

 

“No,” I say, “Just trees.”

 

“Well, I’m – uh – gonna get some more firewood,” Sam says, looking between Dean and I, and then taking off before I can stop him or curse the rat out. He wants us to, ugh, talk. I don’t want to talk. I want to ignore him. I know I’m being childish, but I also can’t bring myself to care.

 

I sit next to the fire. Close, but not too close to Dean. I didn’t realize how cold I was until I’m sitting, my arms wrapped around my knees with the fire licking at me. I reach into my pocket to see if my iPod is there. Thank god it is. And with a seventy-five percent charge. That’ll last me for awhile if I conserve it. I pick a song, and I’m about to stick my headphones in my ears when Dean clears his throat.

 

“Did I piss you off?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why’re you bein’ like this, Princess?” Dean demands, scooting closer to me.

 

“Can you use my goddamn name, Dean?” I demand, turning to face him. Looking in his face, I’m embarrassed and confused all over again by the whole cheek-touching-thing earlier. “I’m not some spoiled Princess. I’m just me. And I’m sorry I’m such a huge burden on you. I really am. Trust me, as soon as we get back to our world, I’ll hit the fucking road.”

 

He looks a little shocked, “Elvira …”

 

“Shut up!” I shout, “God, you’re so bipolar. The second I start to think we might be friends, you start being a dick again. Nobody pisses me off like you do, Winchester. You make me wanna punch you in your pretty little mouth.”

 

I shoot to my feet, and start pacing. All this pent up anxiety is killing me. I know I’m being moody. I know it’s annoying. I know only half of it has to do with Mr.Bipolar. The other half has to do with my memories. What my mom said. Who is my father? Who am I? More importantly, what am I? My fist flies, connecting with the nearest tree. I hit it over and over again. I feel my knuckles split open and I feel the blood start to drip down them. I’m about to let my fist fly again, when Dean catches my fist.

 

“Hit me,” he growls, “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doin’ that. And ya said you wanted to anyways.”

 

He’s not actually expecting me to hit him, but that’s exactly what I do. My fist connects with his jaw, my blood leaving a streak on his face. His head turns with the force of my punch. My already bloodied knuckles throb. He faces me again and cracks his neck.

 

“You hit like a girl,” he spits, “Is that all you got, whore?”

 

He did not.

 

“Go fuck yourself,” I breathe, and I hit him again. And again. And again. With each throw, my hits get weaker and weaker and my sobs get louder and louder. Until, I’m essentially crying and tapping him on the chest. Dean takes one step forward and pulls me into his arms. He presses his face into my hair.

 

“Listen, Elvira,” he starts, and then pauses,“I don’t want you to leave. You’re a part of this now. You’re family. I just don’t know what to do with you ‘cause most of our family ends up dead from time to time. Hell, until yesterday, I believed our mom was dead … again.”

 

“It’s only half you,” I whisper.

 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks. “Sam says it helps.”

 

“I … had a memory of my mom,” I say softly, my face turned down into his shirt, “She was … talking to me … about my dad. She said he’d come for me one day and show me who I really was. But … I had a dad. And it makes me wonder … who was my real father? Just when I’m starting to get a grip on myself, I get blindsided with this. Who am I really? Or … or what am I? Am I dangerous?”

 

“Sweetheart, you couldn’t hurt a fly,” he says, “I’ve spent the last couple weeks with you and you don’t have an evil bone in your body. A bitch bone, fuck yeah. But not an evil one.”

 

“Do you really think so?” I ask.

 

“Pfft, I know so,” he says, “Now how ‘bout you share your iPod with me. I’m bored as hell and I need something to groove to. Even if your music taste sucks.”

 

I roll my eyes, “You’re one to talk. Mr. All-I-Listen-Too-Is-Butt-Rock.”

 

I hand him one of my earbuds. He pressed the bud into his ear and I set mine in, then I press play. The music is soft, ethereal almost, but swells into something I can only describe as soul wrenching in the chorus. I can feel Dean’s eyes on me as the song to pulls into the chorus again. I can only think, why this song? It’s charged emotionally with touches, bursts, sexual intent. _//the emotion is suddenly out of me/the emotion is building up inside of me/what you're looking for is suddenly out of reach/ the emotion, the emotion//_. Dean’s eyes meet mine as the chorus starts to fall away.

 

“What was your dream about?” I ask, referencing earlier. I can’t help it. I’m dying to know. Something flickers in his green eyes and he opens his mouth to say something, but Sam chooses that moment to waltz back into the clearing. I narrow my eyes at him.

 

“Great timing,” I mutter sarcastically.

 

“What?” Sam says, “It’s nice to see you two lovebirds getting along.”

 

“Gross. No,” I say, making a gagging noise.

 

“Is anyone else here starved?” Dean asks, turning from me to Sam.

 

I shake my head. I’m too tired right now to be hungry. “I’m exhausted. I’m gonna try and sleep.”

 

“I’m pretty worn out too,” Sam says, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“Come on! Does that mean I’m gettin’ saddled with first watch?” Dean grouses.

 

“Guess so, big boy,” I pat his shoulder with faux sympathy. I do something I never thought I would. Like over my dead body. I press my iPod into his hand. “If you damage it in any way, I’ll have your dick.” He smirks. “Not in the kinky way.” He just shrugs, still smirking. I roll my eyes.

 

Sam has already laid down, his head resting on a log. I go lay down beside him. I’m not sure how long it takes me to fall asleep, but it’s not very long. When I wake up, the sky is light once again. I’m not going to say the sun is up because honestly I haven’t seen one and it doesn’t get too bright, just brighter. I push myself into a sitting position and look around.

 

Sam and Dean are awake and talking beside the fire. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and stretch my upper body. I wonder how long they’ve been awake for. Hopefully, not too long. My shoulder has a crick in it from sleeping on the ground, I roll it in an attempt to get my shoulder to loosen up, but it stays all tense. In the distance, I hear a creepy growling noise and I can’t help but look behind me.

 

“Hey, shouldn’t we keep moving?” I call out.

 

“We were just waiting on you, Princess,” Dean replies.

 

We’re on the move in five minutes. At some point, Dean slips me back my iPod. I’m not really sure what we’re looking for, but Sam and Dean seem to know so I follow them. Keeping up with these two proves to be a challenge. They are the definition of determination. Though, Dean sometimes falls back to walk beside me. During one of his little bouts of keep-Elvira-company, I decide to ask him what exactly we’re looking for.

 

“A door,” he replies. He doesn’t say anything else, just returns to scanning the surrounding jungle.

 

“You know, I’m not gonna be of any use if I don’t know what the hell I’m looking for,” I point out.

 

“It’s like a giant glowing crack,” Dean says. Then returns, to scanning the jungle.

 

That’s how the rest of the day passes. And then we make camp again. I volunteer to take first watch while Sam and Dean catch some much needed zs. Neither of them would be willing to admit it, but they’re both exhausted. Once the boys are settled in, I sit down, listening to the sighing of the wind through the trees and distant groans and growls of whatever is out there. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched though. I stay up until the sky starts to lighten. Then I wake Sam up to take my place. He wakes up quickly and I take the warm patch of dirt he left. I doze on and off for the rest of the morning. I’m up before Dean, though not by much. Sam is filling me in on some more key points to their lengthy and dramatic history when Dean wakes up.

 

“Is anyone starved now?” he asks, sitting up.

 

I toss a pinecone at him, “All you think about is food.”

 

“Hey! That’s insulting!” he complains, “There are at least two other things I think about.”

 

“What? Sex and monsters? Maye both at once?” I shoot back.

 

“Gross, El,” he makes a gagging noise, “That’d be worse than seeing you naked.”

 

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t been imagining it since you found out I was a stripper,” I say dryly.

 

He makes a fair enough face. I try not to focus on the fact that he just used my nickname for the first time. Dean stands up and somewhat dusts himself off. The growls in the distance seem slightly louder, but almost imperceptibly so.

 

“Well, I’m gonna try and track us down some grub,” he says, before taking off.

 

Sam and I are left alone. We pick up our conversation where we left off, the demonic apocalypse. I thought their life was complicated before we started this little story telling thing. Whoo wee. Man. These dudes have seen some real shit. Not just like, run of the mill dog shit, like some real ass backwards elephant shit. I’m only half paying attention though. I’m really listening for those growls. Dean’s gone for a good couple of hours, enough for it to sink into afternoon, judging by the differences in light. When he finally strolls back into camp, he’s holding two dead lizards. And it occurs to me that he wants to eat them.

 

“Found us something!” he holds up the lizards triumphantly. Sam and I exchange skeptical glances. Just then another growl can be heard in the distance.

 

“Um, I’ll starve, thanks,” I say.

 

“Dean … you’re not really gonna … eat those,” Sam says, “They could be toxic.”

 

“Don’t worry Sammy,” Dean says with a grin, “I brought one for you too.”

 

Dean sits down beside me and sets about gutting and cleaning his kill. When he’s through, he jams the lizard onto a stick and begins the process of roasting it. All I can do is watch him in absolute horror and disgust. He’s actually really gonna eat it. When he deems the lizards edible, he pulls the from the fire and gives them an experimental once over. He picks a piece off and pops it in his mouth. He looks between Sam and I, giving us that same fair enough expression.

 

“Oh, D-d-d-don’t tell me it tastes like chicken,” Sam sputters in disgust.

 

“No, Sam, it’s a lizard. It tastes like a lizard,” Dean’s voice is cut and dry as he gestures to the vaguely ambiguous meat on the stick.

 

“We really oughta get moving,” Sam says, “Keep looking for that door.”

 

Dean spits out something into the bush beside him, “Yeah, if there is a door.”

 

“Well, last time we opened one it stayed open,” Sam replies hopefully.

 

“Yeah, for a couple a hours,” Dean says. Needle meet balloon. “We’ve been here for, what?” He looks at me, “Two days? And change? Look man, I really hope you’re right, I really do. But if you’re not, and we’re stuck here in this fuckin’ monsterland? I mean, nobody back home even knows where to start looking for us.”

 

“So what are you saying?” Sam asks.

 

“I’m saying,” he looks down at the meat stick in his hand, then at me, then at Sam, “Eat up.”

 

Another one of those growls echoes in from the surrounding forest. Dean and I look over our shoulders. He gives Sam a look.

 

“That sound closer to you guys?”

 

“Yeah,” the unnerve is written in Sam’s face. “What do you think it is?”

 

Dean jams his lizard stick back in the ground, “Let’s not find out.”

 

We all get up in unison. With Sam in the lead, we start booking it in the opposite direction as those sounds. Only. Where’s Dean? I turn around to see him grab his lizard stick and jog to catch up with the two of us. Oh. My. God. His priorities are way out of whack.


	13. Only Douchebags Wear White Suites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, here's a lil late easter present cuz I finished chapter 20 this morning. ALso, shout out to the people who commented on last chapter and those that left kudos. Gotta love people who stroke my ego! Seriously though, I really appreciate it. On another note, I got a spotify. If you want to follow me, my username is indigenous.ghost sooooo yeah. Towards the end of this fic, I'll be posting a special Dean/Elvira playlist that coincides with the story. Lots of love from your friendly neighborhood ghost. 
> 
> (Sidenote: EVERY Fucking Time i TRY TO SPELL neighborhood it takes me like 5 tries. That word is a mess)

**Chapter 13: Only Douchebags Wear White Suites**

 

We pause for a moment to try and gain bearings on our surroundings. I look around trying to find something, anything to give us direction. Everything is so dark here, and it seems like this forest is endless. Not to mention the weird growls and strange stench that seems to infect everything here. It’s funny how, here in this other universe, all I can think about is how I could really go for some tacos. Maybe I could ask Mr. Handy to whip me up some lizardos. Tacards. This was a mistake. It seems inventing new words isn't in my particular skillset. 

 

“This world sucks,” Dean grouses. Speak of the devil.

 

“Look, Dean,” Sam says in a voice that’s akin to I shot your brother, “I – I don’t think this is just a different world. I think it’s a whole other universe.”

 

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Dean mutters, “This universe sucks.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees with a little laugh scoff thing.

 

“I wonder if this universe has it’s own god and stuff,” I say quietly.

 

Dean bends over to pick something off his shoe. It doesn’t surprise me. The ground is mushy, almost syrupy. We hear rustling right behind us and my skin crawls. I knew we were being watched. I knew it. Sam, Dean, and I all exchange glances.

 

“What was that?” Dean asks.

 

We all turn around, very slowly, in unison. A dark hooded figure in a dress carrying a knifed bo is facing us. Before any of us have time to react, she lunges in a fury of viper-fast swings. I say she, because she’s clearly got boobs. She has Sam and Dean down in a matter of seconds. Both of them attempt to get back up, but are swept off their feet again and knocked out cold. I start backing away from her, my hands up. Rule number one, don’t antagonize the whack happy, stick chick. But she comes for me, striking fast and hard. I feel her slam the staff into my temple and everything goes dark.

 

I wake to Dean growling out Sam’s name and mine alternately. The throbbing pain in my head makes me groan a little before I can shut myself up. I don’t know why, but I feel as though it’s very important to stay as quiet as possible. I blink open my eyes, but everything is still a little fuzzy. Dean is tied to a tree between Sam and I.

 

“W-What happened?” Sam asks, his voice a touch panicky.

 

Just then our mysterious hooded assailant waltzes into the clearing. She approaches a skull of mammoth proportions and seems to look right at us, like she’s mocking us. _HAHA fuckers I have you now good luck trying to escape you sons a bitches._ Those oh so helpful instincts that cropped up in the Death’s reading room make another appearance. This time, they are screaming for me to run. Get the hell out of dodge. And never look back. Peace out, bitches. But it looks like I won’t be doing any of that. As I am tied to a fucking tree.

 

“Hey yo, Dark Dipwad!” Dean yells at her.

 

I want to smack him for aggravating her. She turns and uses the knifeless end of her staff to slams it into the skull. Oh bad. This is very bad. I take in the scattered bones around the clearing, mostly at the bases of trees. I watch as the hooded woman starts to walk away. I can imagine she’s smiling. I struggle against my restraints, trying to rip myself out of the tree.

 

“The hell?” Deans says, looking very confused.

 

“What was that all about?” Sam asks.

 

OH MY GOD. YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING CLUELESS.

 

“The hell do you think?” I yell, the panic taking over my voice.

 

Dean gets it first, looking around the clearing. He sees the bones. The look on his face is like someone just told him that there would be no more beer. Ever. “I think it just rang the dinner bell.”

 

“No fucking shit,” I say, fighting to get out of these stupid ropes.

 

The growls get louder. You know that scene in Jurassic Park where you see the giant dino footprint and the water filling it moving. And then you know. The T-rex is on it’s way. That’s how I feel. Except, instead of the joy of watching a film, I probably feel how those poor people felt. Terror. Our effort goes from fifty to a five thousand. Dean curses. A loud growl echoes behind us. Sam looks at Dean and I.

 

“D – did you guys hear that?” he asks, the panic evident in his voice.

 

Mother of fuck. They just won’t budge. And if the boys can’t break them, I definitely can’t break them. And oh my god, this is how I die. Honestly, I would rather have gone out via vampires. Two out of ten. Would not recommend.

 

“We’re so fucked,” I whisper.

 

“Not quite,” I hear a young feminine voice behind me.

 

The ropes suddenly go slack. I hear the snap of another rope and look to see some biker barbie chick cutting Dean loose. God … their life is so confusing. Hey, it’s Kaia too.

 

“Claire?” Dean’s voice is filled with disbelief.

 

“Hey boys,” she says with a small smile, “And … you.”

 

“We don’t have time for introductions,” I say, “We need to book it, like kids with drugs being chased by the coppers.”

 

“Hey, how did you get here?” Sam asks Claire.

 

“It’s the door, it’s still open,” Blondie replies.

 

“For now,” Kaia throws in.

 

“Well, where’s Jack?” Sam asks.

 

Kaia definitely looks like the bearer of bad news here, “I think he’s in the … other place … with your mom.”

 

Another growl, this one even closer echoes. Blondie looks at me. “She’s right, it’s time to go.”

 

We take off running, with the girls leading the way. Dean keeps pace with me. Kaia points out the door. It does look like a giant glowing crack, like a rip in the seams of the world almost. It’s not very big. I hear rustling and see Dark Dipwad has joined us. She throws her staff. It zooms by me, and Sam, and Dean. But she wasn’t aiming for any of us.

 

“Claire!” Kaia screams as she lunges to push the blonde out of the way.

 

The spear catches Kaia in the torso knocking her down, her blood gushing out onto the ground. Claire sinks to her knees and takes Kaia’s hand. The poor girl is heartbroken. Just then something appears, something massive, something monstrous. The thing leans down, it’s little glowing crimson eye holes trained on us. Sam and Dean stare up at the monstrosity in terror and awe. I for one am ready to nope the fuck outta here real fuckin’ quick. I did not sign up for this shit. Claire stands up, her face a mask of rage, and charges the hooded woman. Wow. She is not the sharpest tool in the shed.

 

“No no no no! Claire!” Dean yells, dashes forward to hold her back. He looks at me, “C’mon we gotta go.”

 

The thing takes another step forward and leans down to wards us. It roars, the sheer magnitude of the sound sending trees rattling. I hear Sam yelling for us to go. I jump for the door. All of us stumble onto the ship, the door snapping shut behind us. Bye bye bizarroland. I fall against the wall for support. I feel Dean come to a halt behind me. Claire is understandably distraught, on the floor, crying.

 

A bunch of women run in. A short dark haired woman with a pixie cut gets down on the floor with Claire, pulling the young girl into her arms. The pixie haired woman, looks up at Sam and Dean questioningly, maybe a touch hopefully. Both men shake their head, and the woman turns back to look at Claire. I look up at the other women in the room. A perky looking blonde woman, a pretty girl with long dark and dark eyes, and a sweet looking dark-skinned girl with smooth shoulder-length hair. So much Estrogen in one room.

 

The perky blonde steps up to me and says, offering me her hand, “Donna, Donna Hanscum.”

 

I stare at her outstretched hand a moment before grasping it, “El-Elvira Castle.”

 

“Nice to meet ya,” she says. Her voice has a slightly Canadian like accent. “New to all this?”

 

“I – I,” I stutter, staring at everyone, “Yeah. I guess.”

 

I jam my hands into my pockets. Oddly enough, I feel like I’m intruding on something. I back up against the wall and end up backing into Dean. I look up at him. He gives me a half smile, and places a hand on my shoulder. I don’t move. Sam stands next to us and for the first time since being with them, I feel like I have a family. Suddenly, I don’t feel so uncomfortable.

 

“You ready to roll out, Princess?” he asks me.

 

I nod.

 

“We’ll meet back at your place Jody,” Dean says.

 

Dean steers me down the stairs with Sam and Dean following us. I do my best not to trip or fall or anything, but the more we walk, the more exhausted I become. Something pulls at my mind, like a tidal wave. It nearly sweeps me off my feet and I totter backwards. It seems like my life is made of oopsie daisies.

 

“Whoah whoah whoah,” Dean says, “You okay, Princess?” He steadies me.

 

“I – I need to lay down,” I say, “I don’t feel … so … good.”

 

“Sammy! Sammy!,” Dean says, “Code Memories.”

 

Dean swoops in and starts to pick me up, when I bat him away, “I’m – this isn’t – I don’t know what this is.”

 

I make it to the Impala, standing there with my hands pressed against it before I manage to open the door. I slide into the back seat and I lay down. As soon as my head touches the seat, I’m out like a light, slipping away into darkness. It almost feel like I’ve teleported. An older man in a white suit with a big backcomb of grey hair, handlebar mustache, and a thick beard is sitting on a bench in a blood red rose garden. I stand there for a moment, watching him. He’s inspecting a rose with white gloved hands. And I get the weirdest image of him twiddling his mustache doing villain-y stuff.

 

“Hello, my dear,” he says finally, turning to look at me. His voice is deep and he sounds like an old oil baron, you know with that kind of classy southern accent. A V shaped scar surrounds his left eye.

 

“Hello,” I say quietly, watching him suspiciously.

 

“You know, my dear,” he says, “I felt you enter this world. It wasn’t like the boy. He was more flashy, like circus show rolling into town unannounced. You though, you crept in like a thief in the night. And you were silent enough not to wake most of the people in our house. But I heard you. I hear you loud and clear.”

 

“Who are you?” I ask.

 

“Who I am is neither here nor there,” he says, “I’m more concerned with what you are.”

 

“No shit, but I guess it doesn’t matter what you’re concerned with,” I say defiantly, “I don’t have to answer you.”

 

He smiles at me and stands up. He walks towards me slowly, but with purpose, “Interesting.”

 

It suddenly occurs to me that, while unlikely, this man could be my father. The father that my mom was talking about in my memories. I have a feeling though he’s not. He just doesn’t seem, well, grand enough. I have a feeling that whoever and whatever my father is would make this little worm look downright puny. I have to ask though, just to be safe. He’s standing so close to me now, a half foot away maybe.

 

“Are – are you my father?” the question hesitates at my mouth.

 

He smiles, and it’s not a nice smile, and he brushes his fingertips along my cheekbone, trailing them down to my chin, and tilting my face up to meet his eyes, “I could be, Darling.”

 

I take a step back and trip over something. Of course. Just my luck. Even in my damn dreams. I stare at him. His face transforms before my eyes into something truly grotesque, something so horrible words can’t even describe it. The scream that comes out of me is almost inhuman as I scramble to get as far away from this creature as I possibly can.

 

“What is it, my dear?” he asks, his voice more curious than concerned.

 

“Y-you’re face,” my throat is dry and the words come out as a hoarse whisper as I back away. But with every step I take, he seems to make it two steps forward.

 

“You can see?” he asks, and laughs almost in delight, “Well, what a mystery you are.” He lunges forward, and wraps his arms around me, his hot breath snaking down my neck, “Just know, my dear, that no matter what, you’re second on my to do list. I will have you.”

 

“Le – Let me go!” I start tearing myself out of his arms.

 

I wake up with the scream on my lips, my eyes flying open. The car is parked in front of a little house and Sam and Dean are nowhere to be seen. I sit up and look out the window. Dean is running towards the car and he flings the back door open. Fan-fucking-tastic. Now I’m gonna look like a raving lunatic in front of all these nice new people.

 

“Are you alright?” he demands, checking me over for anything.

 

“I had the weirdest nightmare,” I say.

 

“Clowns or midgets?” he asks, cracking a smile. I force a faint smile back, but that only seems to make him more concerned.

 

I look behind him to see Jody and Sam. I shake my head and get out of the car, brushing Dean’s question off. I feel his fingertips brush my wrist, almost like he’s gonna stop me, but decides against it. I smile at Jody, trying to give her as good an impression as I can.

 

“Hi,” I say, “I’m Elvira. We didn’t get the chance to meet properly earlier.”

 

“Hello I’m Sherriff Jody Mills,” she says with a wide smile, “I heard you’ve been causing lots of trouble for these boys.”

 

I shrug, “I try.”

 

She grins, her brown eyes warm, “Good. ‘Cause I think they could use a little trouble once in a while.”

 

“Alright, Jody,” Dean says, “We’re gonna head out. Thank you, for everything.”

 

“I’m impressed that you managed to instill some manners in him,” I comment and Jody laughs.

 

She hugs Sam and then me and tells us all to be safe. We get in the car and we drive off. I crane my neck to see Jody watching us drive away. Once we’re on the road, I lean forward, putting my head between the boys. I need to ask them about that man. With how ass backwards their lives are, they probably know every fucked up creature on the face of this god forsaken rock.

 

“Do you guys know a guy in a white suit with a southern accent?” I ask.

 

Sam and Dean exchange glances before Sam answers me, “That would be Asmodeus.”

 

“Who’s Asmodeus?” I ask.

 

“A Prince of Hell,” Dean says, “Or as I like to call him Evil Colonel Sanders. How do you know about him?”

 

“What’s a Prince of Hell?” I ask.

 

“A mega demon,” Dean says, “One of the baddest of the big bads.”

 

“Elvira, how do you know about him?” Sam asks.

 

“I, um, may or may not have had a dream about him?” I say.

 

Dean glances at me and does a double take, before dragging his eyes back to the road. Sam just fixes me with a look. A very dead pan look. A look that tells me the direction this is headed is definitely not good. I don’t feel so great about this suddenly. Not at all. I want to press the rewind button and, like, untell them about my dream. Unfortunately for me though, life doesn't come with a fucking rewind button.

 

“Elvira, you need to tell me exactly what happened,” he says. Go fucking figure.

 

“I was in a rose garden, and he was there,” I start, “He saw me. And he said – he said he felt me enter this world, but it wasn’t like the boy. The boy was flashy and I was sneaky? I guess? And then I saw his face, his real face. Anyways, he, uh, he told me that I’m second on his to-do list and that he’d have me.”

 

The boys exchange glances. I fuckin’ hate it when they do that. Drives me bonkers. I hate the feeling of them knowing something I don’t. What I hate more though is this feeling, this feeling that is becoming all too familiar. Not knowing who I am, or in this case what.

 

“What? What the fuck is it?” I demand looking between them.

 

“Asmodeus is real bad news,” Dean growls, “If he’s after you, we gotta be on our A game, Princess.”

 

“That’s not the real problem,” I whisper. “The real problem is why he wants me.”

 

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

 

“I mean, what am I?” I ask, “What am I that he wants me so bad? What am I?”

 

They can’t answer that. And neither can I. Lovely, just fucking perfect. Well, this seems pretty typical for the direction my life has been going.

 


	14. All the Things People Think They Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo Yo, Homie Joez,  
> Here's a new chapter for all the lovelies reading this little shitshow. Also, I just finished the first smut chapter It's like chapter 23 or 24. So have fun with that wait guys. I'm trying to keep a lead on this story so if I hit a dry spot I can keep posting until I dig myself out. Lots of love from your friendly neighborhood ghostie.

**Chapter 14: All the Things People Think They Are**

 

I’m rolled over on my side as the tattoo artist tattoos the anti-possession tattoo to my left ribcage. My shirt is slung over Sam’s left shoulder as he monitors the tattoo artist to make sure he does it exactly right. Dean is sitting across from me rifling through one of those tattoo magazines that’s half-porn, half tattoo display. He readjusts himself impatiently and flips though the magazine faster. Finally, he tosses the magazine down and looks at me.

 

“I didn’t know you had so many tattoos, Princess,” Dean says.

 

“It works with the whole stripper thing,” I say.

 

The guy’s tattoo pen slips a little and I wince, “Ay, watch it.” Horn dog. As soon as I say the word stripper, all the men shit themselves. God forbid one of them could be normal about it. I mean, I guess Sam is now. But he took his sweet ass time.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters, “You’re a stripper?”

 

“Yes honey,” I say, “Now, please. Watch what you’re doing, and do your damn job.”

 

“Don’t piss the lady off,” Dean says, crouching to look me in the face, “She’s a real spitfire when she’s mad.”

 

“Fuck off, Pretty Boy,” I say.

 

Five minutes pass, then ten, before the tattoo artist pulls his pen from me, “Alright, looks like we’re through.”

 

Sam leans down to inspect the tattoo, to make sure it’s perfect.

 

“Ya know Sammy,” Dean says with a grin, “If ya wanted to get closer to Elvira’s body, you shoulda just asked her. I’m sure she woulda been happy to give you a run for your money.”

 

Sam practically shoots himself away from me muttering that the tattoo is good. I swear, that boy’s face is as red as a tomato. I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I hold my hand out and Sam drops my shirt in. I shoot Dean a glare as I slip my shirt back on, trying to keep it from touching my new ink. As I walk past Dean, I smack his ass. He jumps and gives me a look.

 

“Stop projecting,” I call out, striding to the counter.

 

I start rifling around in my bag for my wallet, but Dean slams one of his many many credit cards on the counter. The tattoo artist takes the card and swipes it. Glancing between Dean and I, he hands Dean back his card.

 

“So how long have you guys been together?” he asks, looking at Dean.

 

Dean glances at me, “Oh, we’re not … she’s not … we … she’s just a friend.” He gives an awkward little laugh and side-eyes me.

 

“You ready?” Sam asks before things can get hairier than they already are.

 

“Duh,” I shoot back, “Let’s hit the road.”

 

The drive back to the bunker takes about twenty minutes. Once we’ve pulled into the garage, I hop out and go back to my room. As soon as I get there, I peel off my clothes and slip into a loose pair of sweatpants. The issue is that all my shirts are pretty form fitting. And as much as I joke about it, I’m like nine out of ten sure that the boys wouldn’t appreciate me walking around in my bra. Maybe I’ll ask Sam if I can borrow a shirt. His will be looser. And he’ll be less of a dick about it.

 

When I poke my head into Sam’s room, I find it empty. Then I check the kitchen, the library, and the living area where I run into Dean. Just my luck. I was hoping to avoid him all together. Great.

 

“Need somethin’ Princess?” he asks.

 

“Where’s Sam?” I reply a question with a question. His mouth quirks in annoyance.

 

“He’s showering,” Dean says, “Why? Whaddya need?”

 

“I just need a t-shirt,” I reply, “Mine are all tight and I don’t want them clinging to my new piece of body art.”

 

“I’ve probably got somethin’ layin’ around,” Dean says, he starts walking and I follow him, “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

 

I shrug, “I figured Sam would make less of a stink about it.”

 

When we get to his room, I try (scout’s honor) my best not to snoop. I really do. Honestly. But I can’t seem to help myself. My eyes roam the shelves until they land on a picture. A picture of what looks to be a very young Dean and his parents. Before I can stop myself, I walk over to the picture and pick it up. His mom is very beautiful, blonde hair, blue eyes. When I see her, I think of my mom. And to be honest, I’ve been avoiding thinking about anything that has to do with me since my dream about Aged Calvin Candie.

 

“You look like them,” I say, “Your parents.”

 

Dean comes up behind me, “That ain’t somethin’ I hear very often.”

 

I laugh, “That’s not something I hear at all.”

 

“Your parents,” Dean says, slowly, “”Do you remember them?”

 

I set the picture of his parents down and face him, “My mom. In pieces though. Like photographs or home videos here and there. _Elvira, nettoie ta chambre. Elvira, ma douce, es-tu prête à rentrer à la maison? Je me souviens d'elle dans des instantanés. Elle était belle et bonne, je pense. Et elle était très française._ ”

 

Dean looks at me like I just started spouting nonsense. Which I guess I kinda technically did, but it ain’t my fault he’s not sophisticated enough to understand the finer languages. Who am I kidding? I’m fucking weirded out still that I can speak French. I mean, I know why now at least. What I still don’t get, surprise surprise, is why I undertsnad Latin and Greek too.

 

“You speak French?” Dean asks. And if there was a picture in the dictionary under the word flabbergasted, that would be his face.

 

I shrug, “Kind of. Sam and I kind of found out on accident at first, but then in one of my little acid trips, I remembered that my mom is French. Full blooded.”

 

“Sam knew?” Dean asks.

 

“Yeah,” I say, “Why?”

 

He shakes his head as if to clear it, “No. Nothin’.”

 

He tosses me a gray-blue Henley. I pull it no over my head. It hangs loosely from my body. Just what I needed. It smells like him, like gunpowder, and leather, and whisky and _him_. I wrinkle my nose and look at him.

 

“You ever wash your clothes?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

He throws his hands up, “Hey, don’t look a gift horse, Princess.”

 

“Nah, it’s fine,” I say, “Even if it reeks of you.”

 

“Reeks of me, eh?” he asks with a grin.

 

Oh no. Oh bad. He pounces on me and starts trying to shove my face in his armpit. I yell and start trying to pull the great lump of a dude off me. He’s got me pinned against the wall. My foot slides as I try to push him off me. I grab his shirt for stability. He thinks I’m a weak little girl he can just shove around. Well, motherfucker, try this on for size. I let myself wobble and slide against the wall. Dean starts to look really confused. I close my eyes and go dead.

 

“Elvira? Elvira!” he catches me as I start to fall to the floor and eases me down gently. “Shit!”

 

I lay still for a couple moments, my breathing slow and even. His hands are still on me, one under my head, the other resting gently on my abdomen. I can feel him lean down, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my face. That’s when I pop my eyes open. He flinches a millimeter in surprise, but doesn’t really move. He stays there like that.

 

“Got you,” I say, clearing my throat.

 

“You’re such a bitch,” he mutters.

 

I throw all my body weight against him and he gets thrown off balance long enough for me to scramble out from under him. I launch myself at him, pushing him to the floor and landing on his chest. I press my hands down on either side of his shoulders.

 

“Jack ass,” I say. I keep my hands pressed against his shoulders, grinning down at him in triumph. I know that he could have me re-pinned in about zero point zero zero zero flat. For now though, he lets me enjoy my paper thin victory.

 

His hands go for my hips, “Elvira, do you-.”

 

“Dean?” Sam rounds the corner into Dean’s room. Reflexively, I punch Dean hard in the chest.

 

“That’s for bein’ a dick,” I hiss and shoot to my feet, stomping on his gut as I leave.

 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean barks, “Seriously!?”

I flee the room before either brother can see my burning face. I head to the library and decide to camp out here for I don’t know the rest of my adult life. Anywhere away from those brothers. Especially Dean. I settle into one of the chairs and pull out my iPod. I’m about to plug myself in, when Sam strides into the room.

 

At first glance, he seems normal. But after taking a second look, there’s just something off about him. His usually warm brown eyes seem almost deadened. Not that I’d blame him what with his occupation of choice. I mean, who chooses a life like this? Not sane people. That’s for damn sure. But I guess you have to be kinda crazy to be the heroic type. I guess. He walks to one of the shelves and pulls outa book, but every moment is dull, like all the life got sucked right out of him.

 

“You okay Sam?” I ask.

 

He glances at me, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

I stand up, “Oh, that was a lie if I ever heard one.”

 

Sam huffs and collapses into a seat, “Yeah?”

 

“Tell you what,” I say, “You tell me one thing, I’ll tell you one thing.”

 

He looks at me over his book and sighs, “You’re not gonna give up until I talk about this are you?”

 

I smile, “Not even a little.”

 

Sam sighs again and sets his book down, “It’s just … we lost our mom and now Jack. Jack was possibly the one person who could get her back and now, well, he’s gone too. Everything around us is spiraling out of control and we’re at the epicenter of this storm like we always are. It’s wearing me a little thin, I guess. Your turn.” I get the feeling he’s only skimmed the surface, but I’m not gonna press him for more.

 

I smile, “Everyday since that dream about Asmodeus … I look in the mirror and I don’t see a person. I see a thing. A thing you two would probably and should probably kill. And I look at myself and I wonder, am I gonna go rotten? Am I already rotten and I just don’t know it. But most of all, I just want to know. Isn’t that kinda twisted? I don’t care if I’m evil, I just wanna know if I am.”

 

“You’re not evil, Elvira,” Sam says, “Trust me, I’ve seen evil.”

 

I smile at him, “Thanks Sam.” My smile widens as I get an idea, “Wait right here, Samuel.”

 

I take off to my bedroom, sliding around corners. I snag my Bluetooth speaker from the drawer beside my bed. Then I run back to the library at top speed. I set the speaker on the table and connect my iPod to it. I pick what I know to be a happier dance-y song. Sam watches me the whole time and whether he looks confused or bothered, I’m not really sure. And I don’t care. I stride over to him.

 

“Get up,” I say, “C’mon.”

 

He sets his book to the side and just gives me a seriously judgmental look, “Elvira, we’ve gotta look for a way-.”

 

I press my finger to his mouth, “Sam, for fifteen minutes, let’s just dance. Let’s pretend like we’ve got all our answers. Things can wait for fifteen minutes.”

 

He rolls his eyes and huffs, “This is so stupid.”

 

I press play on the song. The guitar riff opens up in a deceptively happy sound. Then this weird sound fills the room I can only describe as a squiggle. I start dancing, moving around jumping, swaying my hips, the whole shabang. I grab Sam’s hands, and at first he’s like a limp noodle (or a limp dick cuz they’re more annoying), then he starts to get into it. Now, one would presume that because I’m a good stripper, I’m a good dancer. Well, one would be correct. But right now, I’m just freestyling it and grooving, generally making a buffoon of myself. And Sam’s a bad enough dancer to make even a professional dancer look like an amateur.

 

We must look weird. Two people fucking around in a library. But I don’t care. This feels good. I get a smile out of Sam, albeit a mini one, as we dance. We go through three or four songs. We’re in the middle of a particularly hip-swinging Taylor Swift bop when Dean enters the room and shoots us a look.

 

“What’s going on here?” he asks.

 

“Jam sess,” I say, “You weren’t invited.”

 

“Yeah, I can tell,” Dean spits out, sounding a little jealous, “Not that I’d want an invitation from either of you two weirdos. Both of you probably got your heads swirlied all through high-school.” He’s totally jealous.

 

“Go fuck yourself,” I say with a laugh.

 

“Shouldn’t you be lookin’ into why Asmodeus wants you?” Dean asks, folding his arms over his chest. I roll my eyes.

 

“We will,” I say, walking up to him, “But we need a break. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

 

I flip him off and put on one last song. Then I grab his hand. Asshole. I pull him into our little deformed circle and start bopping around. At first, he’s a stone wall. But I break him down. He cracks a smile and caves. Neither of these dudes know how to emote normally. Then again, neither do I. So I guess we all kind of fit together. And so we dance. 


	15. Annoying, Well, Princess, I’m Just Getting Started

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey, 
> 
> Here's a new chapter. I hope you guys like it. Also, since I have a lead on this story, I always have to make sure I'm not posting the ahead. Especially for Ch 16. ;^)  
> Love from your friendly neighborhood ghost.  
> Also, don't forget to leave kudos if you're in love with this story and comments pls.

**Chapter 15: Annoying, Well, Princess, I’m Just Getting Started**

 

I wake to someone knocking on my door. I heave myself up and glance at the time. It’s almost eight thirty. Oh. My. God. I’m gonna deck whoever it is, and my money’s on Dean. Stop fucking pounding on the door you damn prick. Ever since he walked in on Sam and I’s dance party, he’s been a fucking prick. Doing shit like going out of his way to piss me off and annoy me. Just being a general bag of dicks.

 

“For the love of Christ!” I yell. I hear a chuckle. Bingo. It is Dean.

 

“Makin’ pancakes, Princess,” he barks, “How many you want?”

 

I get up and walk to the door, throwing it open. Dean is there, leaning against the wall next to my door. I’m in nothing but his Henley that I’ve sort of hijacked completely. It’s really fucking comfortable. He looks me up and down and makes some sort of face.

 

“Let me just get dressed and I’ll come help,” I say.

 

“Hurry your ass up,” he says, “Maybe I’ll even let you flip one.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mutter, throwing the door shut, “Fuck off.”

 

I pull on a pair of sweats and then leave the room, heading to the kitchen. Dean’s already there and pulling out ingredient’s for the pancakes. I pull myself up onto the counter and sit there swinging my legs. He works around me, occasionally reaching around me to grab supplies. He pulls an egg out to beat into the pancakes. I’m surprised he’s not using bisquick.

 

“I’m thinking of getting a motorcycle,” I say into the silence.

 

He looks up sharply, “Why?”

 

I shrug, “Freedom. I think I know how to drive. I just don’t have anything to drive.”

 

“What? Hanging out with us not good enough for you?” he shoots back, and I can hear an undertone of real bitterness beneath the venear of sarcasm. Calm down big boy. I didn’t say I was just gonna take off. Though I guess I did. But that was awhile ago. And we were in bizarroland. You know what? Doesn’t count. I was under extreme duress.

 

“It’s not that,” I say, holding my tongue, “I just, what happens if you guys need to take off without me? Or something happens to you two?”

 

He grunts, “Whatever. Do what you want.”

 

I hop off the counter and walk up to him, “God, what’s your problem?”

 

“None of your damn business,” Dean growls as he pours out circles of batter onto a hot griddle.

 

“It is my business when you start treating me like dirt, Winchester,” I say.

 

He slams the bowl down on the counter. And I flinch. I’m surprised it didn’t break. He turns around. If looks could kill, I’d be fucking dead. Rest In Pieces. Seriously though, what fucking bug crawled up his ass and died. Why the fuck am I even discussing this with him. It’s none of his damn business what I do or don’t do. Better yet, why do I fucking care so much?

 

“You know what Elvira? I think it’s a bad idea,” he barks, “Probably your worst idea yet and you seem like a lottery machine of bad ideas. All you do is throw yourself into the thick of it without looking both damn ways!”

 

I get right up in his face, “Who gives a rats ass!?”

 

He seizes my upper arms and grabs me, “I do. Alright? It feels like you were thrown into my life and I’m supposed to protect you! So stop doing your fucking damndest to make my job harder.”

 

I think, for once, I’m speechless. Usually I have something to fucking throw back at him. _I can take care of my damn self. Oh get off your high horse, nobody asked you to. If I needed you to protect me, I woulda walked right up to you and asked you to._ But nothing seems to do it justice. So I stand there blinking at him, trying to figure something to say. But everything seems so insignificant. I’m speechless. Somebody needs to get him some sort of award or certificate. He’s officially achieved the impossible. I probably look like a total dumbass.

 

“First there was the Vampire thing, then following us to Jack, then you fuckin’ pass out and seize up so bad I think you’re gonna kick it right there,” he growls, “Then you wake up when the angels are after us. It woulda been better if you’d stayed passed out until we were already in Freakazoidland. Then you would have been safe, But no. Then after all that, you tell me Evil Colonel Sanders wants to bone you.”

 

“That’s not exactly-.”

 

“Shut your trap,” he barks, “And you’re not even doing anything about it! I mean, I had to practically grovel to get you to get that damn tattoo. But all Sam has to do is look at you and you do exactly what he fucking wants! Why!?”

 

“Dean …”

 

“If you open your mouth one more damn time,” he growls, “I swear to god …”

 

“Dean …”

 

He lets go of my arms and crosses his over his chest, his face unreadable, “Please, just shut up.”

 

I roll my eyes and say boredly, “Dean, your pancakes are burning.”

 

“What?” he whirls around, “Fuck! Elvira! Seriously!?”

 

I throw my hands up, my tone mocking, “Fuck! Winchester! Shut up! Warn me about my pancakes! Make up your damn mind, you moody son of a bitch.”

 

He tosses the pancakes away and starts over. Then he turns to me and cracks a smile. Thank god because doom and gloom Dean is way worse than happy Dean. Turns into a jerk when he’s not happy, that’s what happens. And I’m not here for it.

 

“Listen, Elvira,” he says, “Get yourself a damn car.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Just don’t go doin’ anything crazy.”

 

“You really worry about me, huh,” I say, trying so hard not to laugh.

 

“Don’t press your luck, Princess,” he growls.

 

I snort. The rest of the morning passes like that. Easy chatting. For some reason, Sam doesn’t join us for breakfast. In fact, the guy doesn’t get up until ten. Which seems a little weird for him. I mean, Dean’s totally the type to hang out all day in bed. But Sam seems more like a six AM run with a green smoothie kinda dude.

 

“Ho, ho, ho. There he is. Saved you a shortstack,” Dean says when he finally makes an appearance, “You’re lucky too. This girl woulda scarfed ‘em if I hadn’t held her back.”

 

But Sam’s on the phone. “Hey Donna. I’m here with Dean. I’m gonna put you on speaker.” He presses the speaker button and holds the phone out, “Uh, why don’t you tell him what you told me?”

 

The perky Canadian blonde lady starts talking, but she doesn't seem so perky today, “Oh, it’s my niece. She’s gone missing. And the local cops don’t …” She trails off. All we can hear is the sound of the rain for a moment. “I know it’s not your normal thing, but-.”

 

Dean interrupts her, “Text us the address. We’re on our way.” I hear a watery thank you before Dean hangs up the phone. He looks at both of us before saying, “Pack your bags. Be ready to hit the road in fifteen.”

 

We do exactly that. Sam and Dean are dressed in their FBI getups and I put on my black dress, leather jacket, and heels. Then we’re on the road. Sam and I doze on and off through the trip. But we’re both fully awake when we get there. We pull into an old looking warehouse, the rumble of the Impala echoing just a little. Donna’s there looking pretty grim, leaning against her monster of a truck. We get out of the car and shut our doors in unison.

 

“Hey Donna,” Sam says, as we walk over.

 

“Hey,” she says, giving them a smile and pulling each of us in for a hug.

 

“How’re you holding up?” Dean asks.

 

“Oh, you know,” she says with a little shrug, “Not great. I – Sorry, for calling you guys, but Jody’s got her hands full with the girls.”

 

“Hey,” Dean says, “Never apologize for callin’ us.”

 

“So what do we know?” Sam asks.

 

Donna looks between Sam and Dean, “Uh, staties found her car the side of the road. Signs of a struggle.”

 

“And, what was she doing out there?” Sam asks.

 

“She was taking a gap year. It’s, uh, this thing where-.”

 

“Where you take a year off, run wild before you go to college?” Dean interrupts.

 

Donna gives a dry little laugh and nods, “Yeah. I used to tell her about how much fun I had when I did it. Well, she thought that it sounded like an adventure. She thought-.”

 

“Donna, hey,” Dean says, “Whatever happened, it’s not your fault.”

 

The blonde nods, “That’s what Doug keeps telling me, but … I can’t help but think-.”

 

“Let’s just focus on the case,” Sam says, his tone almost cold.

 

Dean and I exchange glances before he says, “Doug here?”

 

“Yeah,” she replies with a curt nod, “He’s out back talking to the locals.”

 

Dean takes off into the building leaving Sam and I with Donna. The blonde gives us both a wry smile. Sam pretty much avoids eye contact. I smile back at her, trying not to shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. It feels weird being alone with Donna. Especially in a situation like this. It’s not like I’m a hunter. It’s not like I can help all that much.

 

“How’ve you been, Elvira?” she asks, “Been holding up with all this nonsense?”

 

“I’ve been okay,” I say, “Y’know. As okay as you get around these two mofos.” Somehow, it feels wrong to swear around her.

 

I elbow Sam a little and he just sort of cringe-smiles at me. I almost sigh, but Sam really is having a rough go of it. The least I can do is be supportive. I press my hand against Sam’s back, just so he can feel that someone’s there for him. Dean walks back up to us, looking between Sam and I, my hand still pressed against his back.

 

“Donna, uh, right now, Sam and I, we’re your cousins,” Dean says, “And Elvira, you’re my wife. And Wendy’s next door neighbor and best friend growin’ up.”

 

“Your wife?” I almost choke.

 

“Yeah, I figure we done this once before,” he says, with a shrug and a smartass grin, “We’re experts, now.”

 

“Lovely,” I say, “Just lovely. Why didn’t you make me Sam’s wife? Or Wendy’s older sister?”

 

Dean shrugs, “Figured I could screw with you more if I was your husband.” I roll my eyes and he says, “Anyways, we’re meetin’ Agent Savage at his base of operations tonight. Until then, Sam, El, and I are gonna go find the nearest motel and grab some grub. Not necessarily in that order.”

 

“Alright-y then,” Donna says, handing out another round of hugs, “I’ll let you guys know if we find anything new."

 

We climb back into the Impala. I settle into the back seat, pulling out my iPod as Sam and Dean keep their eyes peeled for a motel. I put my headphones in and decide, you know, I’m gonna leave my music choice to fate right now. I shuffle the whole iPod. The song that starts playing isn’t something I’ve ever heard before, but my mind knows it somehow. I look down at the song title. _DNA_  by _Lia Marie Johnson_. It’s melodic, and sorrowful, and a touch wistful too.

 

Suddenly, I don’t feel so good. I can feel it, the tide of memories tugging at me impatiently. Waiting for me to submit willingly. I look at Sam and Dean. Well, this seems as good a time as any to pass out. I call out Dean’s name so he knows I’m going down as my lids slide shut and I crumple in the back seat of the car.

 

My spirit separates from my physical body. I can see myself standing by the casket of a dark haired man. He looks every inch the elegant and proper gentleman, groomed to the nines for his burial. He’s in a tuxedo, his black shoes polished to a shine. My mother stands beside me, her arm wrapped around me. I sob. She doesn’t even bat an eyelash. I look around until I see a portrait of the same man, only his eyes are open and they are the most blue thing I’ve ever seen. Bluer than the sky on a cloudless day. The name, beneath the portrait, reads Alexander Edward Castle. I watch as people pay their respects, naming him a wonderful man, a kind man, a Saint. My mother doesn’t cry still. Not because she isn’t sad, but because my father’s death broke her.

 

The scene shifts and I’m speaking to my mother in a sitting room, sipping on tea and having cookies I know are my father’s favorite, “Maman, il te manque encore?” Mom, do you miss him still?

 

She responds in French, “I do, but my dear, I’m so weary now. I’m ready to join him. Understand my dear, that no matter what your father tells you, no matter what you come to know, I love you. And I love Alexander. And that Alexander is your father as well.”

 

I laugh, “Mom, you’re talking nonsense again.”

 

“Elvira,” her accent is so heavy, “My one wish for you is to find a love, like that between Alexander and I. He knew … everything. And yet he still loved me. Do not ever forget, my flower, that your happiness comes before anybody else’s.”

 

The scene shifts again, this time I’m standing at a headstone in the middle of the cemetery. My parents names. _Alexander Edward Castle. Lorelei Marienne Castle_ neè _Lamoureux_. I’m crying. And I’m holding roses. I set the roses down in front of the headstone. I collapse to my knees. My sobs echo out. I think this is why I hate cemeteries. This moment right here. I press a kiss to my fingers and press it to the headstone. I stand on shaky knees, take a deep breath, and walk out of the cemetery. I don’t look back. And some part of me knows I never set foot in a cemetery again.

 

Once more the scene melts away. This time, I’m young. An infant, really. This man, this beautiful man, approaches my crib in the night. His face is handsome, cut and chiseled like a Greek god. But it looks wrong. Like god tried to stuff too much of one being into a meatsuit, like his spirit is spilling out of his overflowing vessel that’s splitting at the seems. He reaches down and strokes my hair and I know his touch is soft and warm, but also harsh and cold. It’s his eyes that get me though, those ceaseless, depthless, blue as the ocean, eyes.

 

“Ah, Elvira,” the man whispers, his voice reaching into the very recesses of my soul, “My first born, and only child. Your name to me can only ever be _Amiya_ , World-Breaker in the language of the Befores. For that is what you will do. You will shatter worlds. And none shall you ever call your own because you were born of the Between. No home shall accept you. No earth shall be yours. No love will be given to you. You will never be accepted, not even by yourself. For I am Calenmai, and you … are my daughter. I have broken the very laws of the Collective to see you laid in your mother’s womb. I chose this earth for you to live in peace for your youth. _Amiya_ , when the time comes, I will have you at my side. Sleep for now, my daughter. Rest easy, until our greatest task begins.”

 

He brushes his fingertips against my forehead and I fall asleep. Then he fades. He doesn’t disappear, he fades. Slowly. I jolt back into my body, my spine tightening, my head slamming against something soft. I’m trying to breathe, I’m trying to breathe, but the air just won’t come. I seize three or four times before my body finally goes limp. My eyelids flutter open. I’m in a bed in a hotel room. Alone. In the dark. I think, I think the worst part about that memory is this.

 


	16. Wheel of Misfortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright Kiddos. I know you'll like this chapter. Just pretty pretty please tell me what you think. Especially if you like it ... because I have been dying and waiting to post this. FOr ... well ... you'll see ;) Have fuckin fun. Also, the first half of this chapter IS NOT for the faint hearted. It's dark. Really dark.

**Chapter 16: Wheel of Misfortune**

 

I’m sitting in the dark with my earbuds in when Sam and Dean burst back into the room. It’s late, maybe ten, maybe eleven. I’m not really sure. The boys don’t even look at me, they’re arguing about something. Dean starts talking into what looks like an old radio. After a few minutes, he gives Sam an ‘I told you so’ look. And oh my fucking god I can’t do this. I feel like I’m imploding on myself. I get out of bed abruptly and throw on my jacket. I kick off my heels and slip on my converse. As I leave the hotel room, I can hear the boys calling after me, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

 

The truth is, I’m scared. Not just scared, terrified. And those answers only left me with about a dozen more questions. I wish I’d never had that stupid memory. It’s so dark out, but I keep walking. It’s almost like my legs can’t stop, but I don’t want to stop. I want to keep walking. I want to walk so far that my “father” can never find me. I’m going to explode, or implode. Does it feel the goddamn same?

 

The further I get away from the motel, the more uneasy I feel, but I can’t stop to turn around. I just keep walking. Eventually, I pull my earbuds out of my ears. Sam and Dean are probably birthing calves. Especially because I don’t have a phone. For good reason. I really shouldn’t have taken off like that, but I just needed out. I take a deep breath and sigh. My feet slowly come to a halt. I turn around slowly. A sharp noise of surprise escapes my mouth.

 

A man, not much taller than me, is standing there. He’s wearing a hoodie that shadows his face. I can’t see much. I’m just outside the ring of streetlamp’s light. This isn’t good. You know, I have the strangest feeling. Like maybe, just maybe, I dun fucked up. Where’s a Winchester when you need them? I take a quick step back. Maybe if I smile at this dude he’ll be so dazzled he lets me go. I smile.

 

“H-hello,” I say, “Bye now.”

 

“I don’t think so, darling,” he hisses. Well, that coulda gone better. Alright, plan B. B is for Back the fuck out. Peace out motherfucker.

 

“Well, shit,” I say, “This kinda puts a damper on our nonexistent relationship.”

 

Then I bolt. I dart across the street. I can hear his footsteps pounding behind me. I scream as loud as I can while running at this speed. I know I’m screwed, but maybe someone will see something, anything, and know the knee deep shit I’ve gotten myself into. You know? I’d sooner shoot myself in the kneecap than ever tell him this, but perhaps Dean was right. I don’t think things through very well. Especially when I’m emotional. God, I need to focus on the task at hand. Booking it.

 

It’s futile. I know it is. But I’m not gonna give up without fighting for myself. With a sickening crunch, I drive my elbow into his nose, then I knee him in his nads. Nothing I do though, keeps him down for long. He just keeps coming. I scream again. He grabs my arms and forcibly pins them to my sides, then he pulls me against him and reverses me. Despite my struggle, he does it so easily. It makes me feel weak. And I hate it. He wraps one arm around my neck, the other he uses to pinch off my nose and cover my mouth. The last thing I see is my hands weakly clawing at his arm. Then everything goes black.

 

From then on, it’s touch and go. I get the feeling he drugged me. I wake once in the back of a van. Then again in a dank, dimly lit little room with two masked men. I wake for real as one of them strips me of my clothing, grabbing my breast. I’m strapped down to a modified patient bed. Now this, this could be a sex dungeon. The bunker ain’t got nothing on this. I am definitely avoiding thinking about this guy touching my body. No, I do not care.

 

He squeezes my breast in his hand, runs his finger along the bumps along the rim of my areola, flicks my nipple. He presses himself against me. Eww. Oh god. I may actually vomit. I can feel his erection. It’s one thing to choose to give a man an erection, it’s another thing entirely to have one forced on you. I try to scream, but the only thing that escapes my lips is a whine. Why am I such a moron? Why didn’t I just stay with the boys? I am having serious regrets. If regret was a place, I would be its overlord.

 

“You’re even prettier than the other one,” his voice is disgustingly humid against my ear. I gag a little.

 

“Bite me,” the words take some serious effort on my part to get out.

 

“Trust me,” he says, “I’d love nothing more than to sink my teeth into that sexy neck of yours, but the boss would kill me if I so much as bruised you before putting you up for auction. We’re gonna showcase you first though.” He undoes the straps belting me down one by one. His hands clamp around my ankle, and he yanks me towards him. He runs his fingers through my hair twisting the bottom of a lock between his fingers, “I love women with long hair. It’s so beautiful.” He slides his hands down my bare sides, coming to rest them on my hips. My lower half is dangling over the edge of the bed. He grinds his covered erection over my lady parts, only covered in a little scrap of lace. This time I really do vomit. All over the bed. His hand seizes my hair and he yanks me off. “What a mood killer.”

 

He throws me to the floor. I’m still too out of it to stand properly. He brings over a roll of gauze and stands me up against the bed. He wraps a few layers over my breasts. Then he snags a coil of rope, fists my hair and practically drags me out of the room by my hair. I scream, low and keening the whole time. He drags me past other rooms, rooms covered in old blood, and a couple in fresh blood. Ok, so you know how I though, oh, this is how I’m gonna die a couple times earlier. This is really it. This is how I die. Lost. And alone. Welp, at least my Calenmai never got to me.

 

We reach a room that’s been cleaned a little. There he binds my hands together so tightly I swear he’s cutting off circulation. He hoists me to my feet and ties my hands to a beam in the ceiling so I’m hanging there. Once again, he closes in on me, running his fingers down my neck, feeling my breasts through the gauze. Finally, he presses himself against me, his mouth against my neck. His tongue slinks along the curves and shallows of my neck. I want to cry. I want to cry. But I hold it in, I have a feeling my tears would only spur him on.

 

“Oh god, you taste so fucking good,” he grunts.

 

“You’re a sicko,” I grind out.

 

He hums, “Maybe, maybe not. I have to go let him know you’re ready.”

 

I almost breathe a sigh of relief when he pulls himself off me. For a moment, he disappears, giving me a respite. Minutes later though, he returns with another masked man. His buddy has a camera that he sets up directly in front of me. One of them starts counting backwards from five.

 

“Look at this piece of sweetmeat we have here,” Creep #2 says, he stride over to me. I didn’t notice before but as he comes in full view, I see that he’s got a knife. It’s at least six inches with a wickedly curved blade. He places the tip of it at the hollow of my throat and draws it downwards. The cold metal scrapes against my skin. Maybe I should just throw myself onto the knife and be done with it all. “Look at how gorgeous she is.” He draws the blade down to my belly. The he stops, and pulls it away. It clatters to the ground as he seizes my neck and presses his nose against it. “Oh, she smells absolutely divine.” He runs his nose along my neck, before turning to face the camera. “The bidding for her will start in two days time.”

 

Creep #1 switches the camera off and leaves the room. Honestly, of the two, I’m not sure which is worse. Creep #2 seems a little more murder. Creep #1 seems a little more rape-y. This is starting to sound like a fucking gameshow. Spin the wheel of misfortune to win the getaway of your dreams with a masked creep. Land on an even number and spend it on the white beaches of Hawaii with a murderer! Land on an odd number and enjoy the sands of Jamaica with a rapist! … Why am I like this?

 

“You truly are lovely,” he says, “I’m almost disappointed to do this.”

 

“So don’t do it,” I say.

 

He shrugs, “Not that disappointed.” He starts stalking towards me, a syringe in his hand. He jabs the needle into my neck, and presses down the plunger. As the fluid enters my bloodstream, my vision wanes and I’m trying so desperately to hang onto my senses. I slip under though. It was inevitable.

 

When I wake again, the drug hasn’t quite worn off. Noises are too loud. Lights are too bright. And every motion seems to have light trails lingering behind it. I groan loudly. I hear a gunshot and it nearly deafens me. My hands are long numb. I wonder if they’ll have to amputate them. Footsteps coming towards me. It exhausts me, but I raise my head. Dean. It’s Dean. He places his hands on either side of my face. I can see his lips moving. He nods at me. I don’t know what he’s saying. He cuts me down and I fall into his arms. Sam comes up behind me and wraps his jacket around my shoulders. I expect Dean to pass me to Sam, but he doesn’t. He lifts me up bridal style. My head lolls against his shoulder. I know they’re talking to me, but their voices are distant. We make it out of the building and to the Impala. Sam opens the back door and Dean bends down to slide me inside.

 

I start to panic. I grab the lapels of Dean’s jacket. It’s weak, a very weak grip, but I do it. Their words are starting to come more and more in focus. Sam walks around and grabs the keys from Dean’s jacket pocket. Instead of plopping me into the back seat, Dean slides back there with me in his arms.

 

“Sam, do you think maybe they turned her?” Dean’s asking.

 

“I don’t think so,” Sam replies, “I think she’s just drugged. She must be terrified.”

 

“One of the perks of being with us, I suppose,” Dean says bitterly.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, his tone dark, “It is.”

 

No. No guys. Don’t do this. It was my own damn fault. I was being reckless because I was freaked out. My jaw still feels locked in place. My arm is almost dead weight, but I force it up and splay my fingers against his cheek. His hand seizes mine and he holds it there. He’s staring at me. I get the feeling that of the two Winchesters, Dean is the one who sees me. Really sees me. Not as this girl they picked up in a graveyard. Not as a stripper. Not as a sarcastic little shit. He sees me as everything I was, am, and have yet to be.

 

“Elvira,” Dean says, “You better not fucking die, because I swear to god I will barrel into hell and drag your ass out.”

 

I like how he assumes I’m going to hell. Well, he probably wouldn’t be wrong. My hand stays against the rough stubble of his cheek the entire ride. When we pull up in front of the hotel, Sam jumps out of the driver’s seat and opens the back door. Dean releases my hand and it falls onto his shoulder. I reach my other arm around to the other side of his neck and clasp my arms around his neck. Dean slides out of the seat with me in his arms.

 

He carries me to the hotel room where Sam has already opened the door. Donna is there with a dude who’s passed out on the couch. Dean walks over to my bed and gingerly sets me down. My hand trails along his arm, and grips his hand as he stands up.

 

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he says.

 

I have enough strength to get one word out, “Shower.”

 

I need to get the touch of Creep No. 1 off my skin. I can feel his phantom fingers touching me, caressing me, and I gag. Sam and Dean exchange glances. Sam crouches down to get to eye level with me. Clean. I need to get clean. Now.

 

“Elvira … I don’t think that’s-,” Sam starts.

 

“Please,” I choke out, that’s when the tears start.

 

I haven’t cried at all through this whole thing. But god, I’ve wanted to. Now, that I’ve started crying, the tears are rolling down my cheeks and they just won’t stop. I know everyone is looking at me with pity, and it makes me burn with shame. I hate this. I hate how weak I am.

 

Dean just picks me up without a word and carries me to the bathroom. He shuts the door behind us with his foot and sets me down gently on the toilet. He turns the water on hot. Dean hesitates before reaching down and starting to unwind the gauze binding my breasts. I try not to flinch from his touch, but my god this is hard. Once the gauze is gone, he tosses it in the trash.

 

“Don’t move,” he says, “I’ll be right back.”

 

He disappears for a moment. When he comes back he has my Bluetooth speaker and iPod. I almost sob with relief. I can’t believe they found it. Dean connects the them and picks some music. A song I recognize. The song we listened to in Bizarroland. The Emotion by Børns. He opens the shower curtain partway. I flinch as he reaches for my panties and he pauses looking at me.

 

“Did they touch you?” he demands, his voice cold as ice.

 

I just stare at him. Replying will take more energy than I have. His eyes are downright murderous.

 

“I’m gonna finish undressing you,” he says gently.

 

He reaches for my panties and pulls them down. Nudity doesn’t bother these two, does it? He picks me up again, and gently sets me into the tub. The water wakes me up, helping flush the drug out of my system, or at least make it less apparent. My mouth is dry as hell. The water runs over my body, hitting me in the clavicle. I tilt my head forward to soak my hair and get his scent, his touch, off me.

 

“Dean,” I get out, “I need water.”

 

He nods and stands up. He’s only gone for a few seconds, but I start to feel panicky. I was doing so well, being okay on my own. It’s like I’m back at square one. I’m so frustrated. The tears start again. Dean comes back with a bottle of water. He crouches down by the tub and holds it to my lips. I down the whole thing. He crumples the bottle and tosses it.

 

“Did they touch you?” Dean asks again.

 

“They didn’t rape me,” I say quietly, “But they touched me.”

 

“Worse than what we saw on the broadcast?” he ask, his voice is so cold.

 

“Yes,” I say. The tears come out harder until I’m gasping on them. And I’m shaking.

 

His hand goes for my arm and he almost touches me. Instead he moves to grab my shampoo, he squeezes a dab into his hand and he starts to massages it through my hair. A sigh escapes my lips. When he’s through, he tilts my head forward. I squeeze my eyes shut as the soap rinses away. He does the same thing with my conditioner. When my hair’s through, he shuts the water off. Dean grabs a clean towel and hands it to me. I take it and dry my hair as best as I can, then I wrap it around my body. He must have the song on repeat because it starts over.

 

Dean reaches down and helps me stand. My legs are still weak. I cling to him as I step out of the shower. My knees start to buckle as I come down on my own two feet. Immediately, Dean grasps my waist. My hands grip the lapels of his jacket. He pulls me against him. I can feel his mouth on my hair, just above the shell of my ear.

 

“I thought you were fucking dead,” he says.

 

“That makes two of us,” I say quietly.

 

He lifts his face and I look up at him. I can’t tell what he’s feeling. I know he’s pissed. But that’s all I’m getting. My hand lets go of his lapel and slides up his chest, coming to rest on his cheek. God. Here come the waterworks again. I let my hand drop back down to his lapel. He looks at me.

 

“I’ll be right back,” he says. He leaves the bathroom and returns with a pile of clothes. His Henley and a pair of my sweats. Thank god he brought me his Henley. I dress with his help, trying not to sob too loudly. When I’m dressed, he pulls me into his arms again. We stand there like that for a minute, two, three. I don’t know. He smells so good. His arms are warm and strong. My hands fist his shirt.

 

“Please don’t be mad at me,” I say through the tears.

 

“Elvira, I’m so angry …” he growls, spinning me around to lean me against the wall, “I’m so pissed. I was ready to tear this fucking town down from the foundations.”

 

His face hovers an inch from mine, and I can see it in his eyes. The anger. It’s dark and burning, like smoke from wet wood set ablaze. He’s really angry. His forehead touches mine. His nose brushes against mine. My breath hitches in my throat. I can feel his hand move up until it’s resting on the back of my neck, his other hand is pinned against the wall, effectively trapping me. I swallow. All I can think about is how I want his stupidly perfect lips to make me forget what happened tonight. If only for a while.

 

His mouth touches mine almost gingerly at first, waiting to see how I react. I don’t stop him. I need this. I want this. I’ve wanted this for far longer than I’m willing to admit. His lips caress mine carefully, like he’s trying to memorize the shape, the taste, the feeling. My hands move from his shirt, to come around to his neck, pulling him into me more. His tongue sweeps across my lower lip and I open my mouth. He picks me up, using the wall to help support me, fixing me to it with his hips. My legs wrap around his waist. His tongue dances with mine, our lips moving like they were made to meld together. A slight moan slips from my mouth into his. He swallows the sound completely.

 

_//The emotion is suddenly out of me/ the emotion is building up inside of me/ And what you’re looking for is suddenly out of reach/ the emotion, the emotion//_

 

It feels like the world is moving around us, as we’re in our own little bubble of time and space. Everything stops and slows. And I can forget about the terrible awful things that happened. Finally, he pulls back, dragging his teeth along my lower lip before burying his face in my neck. He holds me there, pinned against the wall just like that, for a long time. When he eases me down to the floor, he looks me in the eyes. I feel like maybe I can be okay.

 

“I had to do that,” he says, his voice heavy, “At least once.”

 

He sees that I’m okay on my feet. He nods once and leaves the bathroom. And I’m standing here wondering what the fuck just happened. My fingers come to rest on my warm and swollen lips. My heart is pounding in my ribcage. I have the strangest feeling that we’re gonna pretend like that never happened. No matter how much I want it to happen again. That’s probably for the best though. God knows what I am, and what I’m going to become.

 


	17. Pictures Or It Didn’t Happen (I Guess It Didn’t happen)

**Chapter 17: Pictures Or It Didn’t Happen (I Guess It Didn’t happen)**

 

When I leave the bathroom, Donna and the guy are both gone. Sam and Dean are sitting on their bed, talking exhaustedly. When Sam sees me, he stands up. His eyes run up and down my body, checking for any cuts, bruises, and scrapes. I smile a little. Strains of the music echo out of the bathroom. My mind flashes back to Dean … and me, pinned against the wall. Instantly my face is on fire. As are other parts of my body. I steal a glance at the elder Winchester, then quickly divert my attention to my feet. Don’t think about it.

 

“How are you?” Sam asks.

 

I collapse onto my bed, “I had a memory of my father.” Both of them look up sharply at me. I take a deep breath and continue, “That’s why I left. It freaked me out. And when I woke up, you guys were both gone. And I had no way to get in touch with you. And so … I kind of freaked.”

 

“What was your memory of?” Dean demands, his voice all business.

 

“I was an infant,” I say, “He was in my nursery. He was talking to me. He said his name for me is _Amiya_ , World-breaker, in the language of the Befores. He said that I will shatter worlds. He said that I’ll never have a home or people that love me because I’m born of the Between? His name is Calenmai. I think he broke some sort of law when he got my mom pregnant.”

 

“Is that everything?” Sam asks, his tone urgent.

 

I shake my head, “He told me to rest until our greatest task would begin. He told me that he would come for me.”

 

Sam and Dean exchange glances. I run my fingers through my damp and tangled hair. My lungs quake as I take a deep breath. I can’t look either of them in the face right now. All I do is cause them trouble, and now they might be in serious danger because of me. I can see how tense they are even if I’m not looking them in the face. There’s only one thing I can do for these boys and that’s leave before we all get in way too deep.

 

“I’m going to bed,” I say, “I’m tired. And it’s been a long couple days.”

 

“That’s a good idea,” Sam says, “We’ll clear out in the morning.”

 

Too bad, Samuel. I won’t be here. I settle into bed. Flipping the lamp off and lay down. I really am exhausted, so it’s a challenge to keep awake. My eyes are fire from the pits of hell by the time both men are sleeping. I slip out of bed. As quietly as possible, I gather my things and pack my bags. It takes me all of five minutes. When my bags are packed, I gather them up. The last thing I do is slip on my shoes. My leather jacket got lost in all this, so I’ll pick up another coat at the nearest store. I cast the boys, sleeping peacefully on their bed, one last glance. I’m out the door in seconds.

 

This will be harder than I thought. My heart caves a little more with every step. I have to do this though. This is the safest thing I can do for them. I run my hand along the Impala as I walk past, my fingers tingling once it’s through.

 

“What? No goodbye?” I hear behind me. I whip around to see Dean. He’s still dressed, his arms crossed across his chest.

 

I shrug, “I figure you gave me a hell of one earlier.” Me and my fucking mouth.

 

He steps closer to me, “C’mon Princess, you and I both know if I was sayin’ goodbye somethin’ totally different would have been goin’ down.”

 

“As if,” I say. I take a step back anyways. I cannot let myself get sucked into my attraction to him. “How did you know anyways?”

 

“I figured you’d pull some bullshit like this,” he replies, “Now get your ass back inside before I have to drag you.” I shake my head. “Elvira,” his tone is all warning.

 

“I can’t, Dean,” I say, “If I stay with you guys, all I’m going to do is cause trouble for you. These last couple days proved that to me. And if Calenmai finds me … I can’t do that to you guys.”

 

He snags my hand before I can snatch it back and pulls me into him, “So you won’t stay?” I shake my head. “Not even if I do this?” His fingertips glide up the length of my arm, slide up my neck, until they come to rest at the base of my skull. I’m screwed. I’m so totally fucked. I’m putty in his palm and he fucking knows it. I hate myself and he’s certainly on my shit list right now too.

 

“Stop it,” I spit.

 

“What?” he asks, “All hot and bothered?”

 

“Go fuck yourself,” I hiss. Stupid arrogant prick.

 

Thinks he can manipulate me using my body. Fuck that. And fuck him. Some small part of my brain that I stuff deep deep down, says _yes ma’am, fuck him. Right here on the hood of the Impala_. I have to take a deep breath and remember that my vagina does not rule my body even though it seems to think it does. I glare at Dean, his fingers threading through the soft hairs at the nape of my neck. That’s it. I’m vowing abstinence. No more dick for me.

 

“Seriously Elvira,” he says, staring me down, “Get your ass back inside. You’re not doing anyone any favors taking off like this. Think about it. The best people who can help you put a stop to whatever your daddy has planned are Sammy and I. If you leave us, it’ll be civilians who get hurt. Better our lives than innocent ones. And … Sam’s lost enough people recently. He doesn’t need to add another name to that list.”

 

Of course, he would never admit to not wanting me to leave. He’s so moody. I hate you, let’s make out. I am not here for that, to be honest. I look up at him, “I don’t like you.”

 

“Don’t need ya too, Princess,” Dean says with a smile, “Just need you to hurry up and get back inside. It’s fuckin’ cold.”

 

“Fine,” I mutter.

 

I stalk back to the hotel room with Dean loosely following. I toss my bags down next to my bed and crawl beneath the comforter, tossing myself in like a little kid. Dean walks over to his side of the bed he and Sam are sharing and climbs in. I cast him a side glance.

 

“I won’t be sleepin’ tonight, Princess,” he says, “So don’t get any funny ideas.”

 

“Whatever,” I spit.

 

But I fall asleep in less than five minutes, my mind swimming out into blackness. It feels like no time has passed when I wake up. I push myself up into a sitting position. Neither Sam or Dean are in bed. But someone’s in the bathroom singing shitty renditions of butt rock. Seconds later, Sam opens the front door. He’s got several coffees. Two of which look the same. Iced white chocolate mocha with hemp milk. And a hot drink that I’m assuming is black coffee for Dean. I snag my drink and smile at Sam.

 

“Thank you,” I say.

 

He holds up a paper bag, “There’s some breakfast burritos from a taco stand. I didn’t know if you’d want one so I got you one anyways.”

 

“Thanks Sam,” I say with a smile.

 

I pull one of the burritos out of the bag and start in on it. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now. The burrito is gone way to fast. Sam tosses me another and smiles. I polish off that one too. By the time I’m through, Dean’s out of the bathroom and getting dressed. Him walking around shirtless doesn’t help me and my crusade against sex. Specifically sex with him. He’s obviously not interested in it beyond using it to get me to do what he wants. I look away. It’s easier now though, I’m so pissed at him for what he pulled last night.

 

“You guys about ready?” Dean asks. I hear some rustling, “Oh, burritos. Don’t mind if I do.”

 

Sam and I exchange glances. I gather up my bags and start to head out to the Impala and before I have time to blink, both brothers are flanking me. Like some sort of royal guard. This is gonna get old really quick. I toss my bags in the trunk, and slide into the backseat. My mind rewinds to yesterday, Dean holding me back in this very seat. My emotions are at war with each other, on the one hand gratefulness, and on the other anger. Anger wins out. Just because he helped me doesn’t give him the right to manipulate me.

 

I’ve been with them for a couple months now. It’s only natural that I’d get closer to them. Except Dean makes me want to castrate myself of a dick I don’t have. And Sam is growing more and more like a brother to me. Sam gets in the passenger side and Dean starts to bring all their bags out. They really aren’t gonna leave me alone, are they? Honestly, that’s probably for the better.

 

“How are you doing, El?” Sam asks.

 

“I’m … still pretty shaken up,” I admit.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

 

I shake my head, “There aren’t words to describe it.” I pause, “Hey, Sam … would you teach me how to fight?”

 

He looks at me, eyebrows raised, “That’s a great idea.”

 

“Thank you,” I say, with a smile.

 

Dean taps on the window of the passenger side. Sam opens the doors and Dean tosses him the keys. Sam looks at Dean quizzically.

 

“You’re driving,” Dean says, “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

 

Sam climbs out of the passenger side and walks around to the driver’s side. Dean ducks into the passenger side. We all settle in for the long ride. Everything from the last few days plays and replays in my mind. Most of it is the worst pieces. My father’s little speech. Those men touching me. My anxiety skyrockets. I take to taping my thigh to try and distract myself, but it doesn’t work really. I pop my earbuds in and try to zone out for awhile, watching the barren landscape flash by. We stop for gas at our half way mark. I’m busting to piss at this point so I slide out of the backseat. I wave to Sam as I walk past and head into the convenience store.

 

The bathroom in the back is somewhere between clean and dirty. It has a bit of a funny smell. I relieve myself and wash my hands. I look haggard in the mirror, dark circles under my eyes, my skin not pale, but pallid. My long hair hangs limply down to my waist. I pull my hair out of my face, the curls snagging on my fingers. I touch the bottom of my hair. I love women with long hair. I almost puke again. I’m cutting it.

  
  
I leave the bathroom. I grab a ton of snacks, jerky, pork rinds, pretzels, nacho cheese. Then I grab some water and Gatorades. The last thing I grab is a pair of pink scissors. I know what I want to do. I drop the items on the counter, casting a smile at the man behind the counter. He looks me up and down, probably wondering how one little girl is gonna consume all these snacks. He rings me up and reads me the total.

 

“You out here all on your own?” he asks, glancing out the window.

 

“No,” I say sweetly, “My husband and his brother are in the car.”

 

He glances out the window, “Good. I don’t like to see young women travelling alone. Just in case something happens.”

 

I smile, “That’s very good of you.”

 

He bags my things and I head out to the car. Dean is awake and talking to Sam. I slide back into the backseat with my paper bag. Dean looks over his shoulder and at my bag. I toss him a yellow Gatorade and the bag of pork rinds, hoping he won’t talk to me. I don’t think I can handle any more of his shit. Plus, if he tries to talk to me, I might snap. Luckily, he doesn’t. Just chugs half the Gatorade and settles into his seat. I sink back into my seat. I’m itching to get back to the bunker and get started.

 

“How you doing, Princess?” Dean asks suddenly.

 

“I’m fine,” I bite out, unable to reign myself in. I don’t want to talk to him.

 

“God, sorry I asked,” he mutters, “Didn’t know you had a bug up your ass.”

 

He crosses his arms back over his chest and shifts back into sleeping position. Great, now that assclown is sulking. He drives me absolutely nuts. Why the hell is he sulking? Sam gets back in the car and looks at me almost quizzically. He must be able to see how done I am with his brother. He seems to dismiss it, or make the wise decision just not to ask, and throws the Impala into drive. We tear out of the gas station. Once again we’re speeding down the high way for Lebanon.

 

During this portion of the trip, I’m able to zone out and listen to my music. The other thing that keeps me occupied and happy is thinking up ways to screw with Dean. Not screw, screw _with._ Very different. I get pretty creative. From pouring legos in front of his door at night so that when he wakes up and leaves, he’s in hell. Or maybe I steal all he toilet paper right before he goes into the bathroom. Maybe I should hide all his Busty Asian Beauties magazines. Or download a virus onto his phone. Yes. I’m passive aggressive as all hell. No, I do not care.

 

It doesn’t take much longer to get to the bunker. We pull into the garage. Sam and I get out of the car, leaving Dean still sleeping. I walk into the bunker and go straight to the bathroom with my sack of things. I strip down and jump in the shower. I wash my hair quickly. When I step out, I towel off quickly. Then, I brush my hair out straight and flat. I rip the scissors out of their packaging.

 

I stare at myself long and hard in the mirror for awhile. It feels like I’m about to take a step away from myself, but also make a leap towards myself. With the first snap of the scissors, I watch the locks of hair fall to the floor. Well, no going back now. I keep cutting, My hair falling down around my feet. I cut shorter in the back and angling it longer in the front. I make sure not to cut it too short because when it dries the curls will make it look shorter than it is.

 

When I’m through, I take a deep breath in the mirror. I look different, but good different. I made a choice about myself for myself. Not bothering to wonder what the me who knew me would have done. And I can’t help but think that’s exactly what the me who knew me would have done. I think the biggest piece of our personality is that we do what we want when we want, regardless of what anyone says without regrets. That means dealing with the consequences and the I-told-you-sos too. I set the scissors down on the counter. Gathering up the bulk of my hair, I toss it in the garbage. I’ll bring a broom back in a minute. I toss my clothes back on. Casting myself one last glance in the mirror, I fling the door open.

 

And there’s Dean. He looks like he just lost the lottery he was told he would win. Pissed. He looks me up and down and opens his mouth to say something, but I dip before he can. Nope. Not getting into a conversation with him when Sam’s not there. Boy bye. I’m speed walking down to the kitchen where the cleaning supplies are. I grab the broom and dustpan out of the closet and head back to the bathroom, hoping he’ll be gone. Nope. Instead, he’s leaning against the wall, waiting for me it seems.

 

I walk past him, making sure to leave at least a foot of space between us. I sweep up the last of my hair off the floor and toss it in the trash. I can feel Dean’s eyes burning a hole into my back. Leave. Leave. Leave. Leave. Okay. If you’re not gonna beat it, then I will. I gather up my stuff, including the broom and dustpan and leave the bathroom.

 

“Elvira,” he says.

 

I don’t respond. I just keep walking.

 

“What? So we’re ignoring each other now?” he demands. I can feel his hand clamp around my arm.

 

My anger comes boiling over. I’m so angry at him. For kissing me. For acting like it never happened. But mostly for trying to manipulate me last night using my own damn body. Especially after what I went through. I’m so angry. And all I can do is ignore it. Or I’ll explode. But if he wants me to explode, then fine. Fuck this. Fuck him.

 

I whip around, “No, I’m ignoring you. I thought we were friends Dean.”

 

He looks surprised, but also suspicipous, “We are.”

 

“Well, friends don’t try and manipulate me, using my body,” I spit out, “So if we’re friends, be my friend. Tell me you want me to stay. Don’t fucking try and manipulate me into it.”

 

He’s angry now and I can see it, “Would you have fucking listened?”

 

I look him dead in the eyes, “No. And I’m still not sure I’m going to.”

 

His expression morphs into something cold and dead, and his mouth twitches before he says, “Do what you want.” He releases my arm with a sense of finality. It’s like we never kissed. Pictures or it didn’t happen, am I right? Well, I guess it didn’t happen. I yank myself away from him.

 

I storm back to my room and slam the door. Someone brought my bags to my room and set them neatly on the floor at the foot of my bed. I have the distinct feeling it was Dean. I collapse down onto the end of my bed. He deserved getting yelled at. He shouldn’t have tried to manipulate me like that. But if that’s the case, why the hell do I feel so damn guilty? I sigh, tossing myself backwards onto my bead. Why is everything so damn complicated with him?

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Two Hunters and a Stripper Walk Into a Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeet. Okay kiddos, here's a new chapter. I'm thinking of posting Thursdays! That sound good to ya'll. Well, either way doesn't matter because I AM THE GOD OF THIS STORY! I do what I want! HAHAHAHAHA! Okay. Back to being serious, hope you guys like it. Don't forget to kudos, commentt, etc. Lots of love from your friendly neighborhood ghost.

**Chapter 18: Two Hunters and a Stripper Walk Into a Bar**

 

Dean hasn’t spoken to me in a week. Not a peep. But you know what they say. When one door closes, another door opens. Sam and I have gotten much closer. We spend most of our time together. In the morning, we go for a couple mile run. When we get back, we hit the books (mostly to keep Dean from bitching at Sam – not me, because apparently I don’t exist right now). Come afternoon, we have a training session which mostly consists of Sam demonstrating stuff to me, and then kicking my ass. Then it’s back to the books. In the evening, we have a relaxed sparring time where I can put the things he’s taught me into practice.

 

Now, I’m not particularly strong. None of my battles will ever be won with a contest of brute force. But I’m smart. And fast. And incredibly limber. So if I can out think or out pace my opponent, I’ll be more than okay. It’s just a matter of putting everything into practice.

 

Sam throws me to the ground, knocking the wind out of me. Immediately, he lunges down to pin me. I force myself to roll despite my body screaming at me to never move again. Sam sits back on his heels looking at me, heaving for air. I stare at the ceiling. I can feel Dean behind us, watching. He doesn’t ever talk to me, but sometimes he comes to watch.

 

“Mind if I take a stab at it Sammy?” he asks suddenly. Well, this is new.

 

Sam glances from me to his brother, “Sure. I mean, if you want to.” He knows something is up between Dean and I. He even asked about it once. To which I replied with a look that shut him up real quick. I shoot Sam a look.

 

“Sam – I,” I start, but it’s Dean who cuts me off.

 

“Scared Princess?” he taunts, his green eyes flashing, “Tell ya what, you hold your own, we go out to a bar and drinks are on me. I win, we go out to a bar, drinks are on you.”

 

As if that’s actually a tempting offer. If I wanted to, I’d never have to pay for a damn drink. Instead of saying that, I roll my eyes and push myself to my feet. When Sam and I spar, we clear out the living area so we have a big open space. I walk to the edge of our homemade ring, and swig off my water bottle. Then I look at Dean. Of course he speaks to me when he wants to kick my ass.

 

“You’re on, you insufferable assclown,” I say.

 

We face off from each other, circling around. I have my arms up in a defensive position, prepared to block any punches. Dean doesn’t swing though, he lunges. I feel his arms wrap around my waist. He tries to bring me to the ground, but I stumble back a few steps then plant my feet and wrench my hips, loosening his grip. I land a palm strike on his neck, but miss his trachea, which was where I was aiming. It does get him to let go though. I step out of his reach faster than he was anticipating and he’s thrown slightly off balance in leaning out to me. My advantage here is that he’s fighting pissed. And people get sloppy when they’re emotional. I sweep one of my legs under his and he stumbles. I use this opportunity to shove him as hard as I can. He hits the floor with a thud. I’m not gonna beat him in a battle of strength. So far I’ve relied on using his own mistakes against him. I drop down on top of him. He grabs my arms, expecting me to try and pin him. He forces himself into a sitting position which is exactly what I want. I wrap one leg around his waist and throw myself around him so I’m on his back, breaking his grip on my arms. Then I lock my ankles together so I’m effectively strapped to him. I wrap my arms around his neck and tighten my hold until I can feel his heartbeat pulsating against my inner arm. He claws at my arms, but Sam taught me a hand lock that’s effective even with someone far stronger than you. And I utilize that. Dean throws himself backwards. My head collides with the floor. A cry leaves my mouth and my grip loosens. God that fucking hurt. I tighten my grip even more. I can feel him struggling to breathe.

 

“Give,” I growl.

 

Instead of tapping out, he plants his feet into the floor and drives his back into my torso, crushing my lungs. Looks like we’re at a stalemate buddy. One of us is gonna have to back down, and it ain’t gonna be me. He keeps his feet on the floor, driving into me more and more, until I can hardly breathe at all. I tighten my grip on his neck, refusing to let go.

 

“Tap out … Princess,” Dean manages to get out, his voice strained. Even from behind him, I can see how red his face is.

 

“Over my dead body,” I hiss as he lets up a little, then he drives me right back down.

 

“Alright, alright,” Sam jumps in, “Enough. You guys are gonna kill each other. It’s a draw.”

 

Dean, albeit reluctantly, relaxes his legs and I loose my grip on his neck. Dean rolls off of me, and pushes himself to his feet. He and Sam exchange tense glances before Dean practically throws his hand towards me. I roll my eyes and stand up. Stupid asshole. Sam looks from his brother to me, glaring at the both of us. Uh-oh. I think we’re about to get scolded.

 

“Okay, I’ve had enough of this,” Sam barks, “I have no idea what the hell is going on with you two, but it ends now. You guys are avoiding each other like the plague and then you’re trying to kill each other. Either get along or we’re all gonna sit down and talk about it. This is fucking ridiculous.” Oh god, I’d rather cut out my own tongue than have a feelings conversation. Dean and I exchange looks. Sam means it too. I have no doubt he’d wrestle us both into a room and lock us in together. Then he’d stand outside the godamn door and listen while we did, or didn’t, sort out our differences.

 

Dean rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “Good job. I didn’t expect you to kick my ass.”

 

I give Sam a long loathing look before looking at Dean out of the corner of my eye and muttering, “Thank you.” I look at Sam again, “I’m gonna go shower and get ready.” Then I flee the room, noping the fuck out before Sam has a bitch fit about us again.

 

The shower is quick and warm, enough to get the sweat off my body so I don’t stink to high hell. When I get out, I towel off quickly. I wash my face and let it air dry. I do my makeup, doing a layer of primer, and foundation, before I highlight my cheekbones, nose, and brow bones. Lastly, I fill in my eyebrows and do a little mascara. I throw my hair up into a messy bun, wrap a towel around myself, and head back to my room. Trying to keep my towel shut and balancing my filthy clothes is a bit of a trick. At least I until smack into a mass of human.

 

I look up to see Dean staring at me, looking a little stunned, and unsure of where to put himself. Well, this is the height of awkwardness. I blink, and drop down to scramble to pick up my clothes. At the same time, Dean crouches down. Our heads smack together, and I stumble back, falling onto my ass. Jesus Christ. This is a disaster. It’s like we’re in a goddamn soap opera, for fucks sake.

 

“Sorry,” Dean mutters, sweeping all my clothes up and stuffing them into my arms. He wraps his arms around me and pops me onto my feet. And then he stands there for a second, just a second too long, a second long enough for me to notice that he doesn’t let go. I feel his face dip down, just a tiny bit. I swear to God my heart near explodes. Then he abruptly releases me and strides away.

 

Like every interaction I have with Dean, I find myself asking what the actual fuck is happening? I head back to my room. I drop my dirty clothes in a bin and slip on a black thong and strappy black bra. Then I throw on a white crop top and a pair of sweats. I put on my Doc Martens, grab my wallet, and go find Sam and Dean. They’re waiting for me in the main room. Both boys look me up and down. I snag my leather jacket from the back of the chair and toss it on, putting my wallet in my pocket.

 

“That’s what you’re wearin’?” Dean asks incredulously.

 

“Got a problem with it?” I ask, my voice laced with annoyance.

 

“Guys …” Sam’s voice is full of warning.

 

I roll my eyes, “Yes, Dean. This is what I’ll be wearing. Don’t you like it?” I bat my eyelashes at the older Winchester.

 

“Sam, this is fucking ridiculous,” Dean looks at his brother.

 

“Well, I’m sick to death of your attitudes,” Sam says.

 

“Well, I want some booze,” I say, “Let’s head out.”

 

The drive to the bar takes ten minutes. We pull into the busting parking lot. I’m first out of the car, with the two boys trailing a few feet behind me. When we walk in, I get more than a few head turns from the men in the bar and of course the women notice Sam and Dean. I walk right up to the bar and sit down on a stool. Immediately, the only male bartender of three bartenders sidles up to me. I smile sweetly at him.

 

“What can I get you, honey?” he asks. He’s handsome in a bartender sort of way. Dark eyes, clean cut hair, layer of scruff, high cheekbones. He’s got this air of don’t give a fuck though that’s not don’t give a fuck what you think, but don’t give a fuck about life. He’s a one night stand boy, no commitments, no strings. I lean forward and purse my lips, before speaking. I let my French accent come out in full force, toning down the other elements. Men love French women.

 

“I’ll have a black velvet whisky with black cherry liquor and a splash of cranberry juice over crushed ice,” I say, “Shaken not stirred, si’l-te-plaít.”

 

“Well, someone knows what they want,” he says, grabbing all the ingredients, “You’re French?”

 

“Oui,” I reply, “My mother was French. I grew up speaking it, but I’ve lived in America all my life.” As I talk, he tosses everything in a shaker and starts blending the drink.

 

“Very nice,” he says, scooping some ice into a whisky glass, he then pours the drink into the glass and slides it to me, but not before he pops a maraschino cherry into the glass, “First one’s on me, darling. I’m Randal, by the way.” He winks. He fucking winks.

 

“Merci Randal. I’m Elvira. Call Vira.” I say sweetly, before taking a swig off of the drink. He gives me a warm smile before heading off to take care of other customers. I sip on my drink demurely, enjoying the subtle flavors and the burn of the whisky.

 

“Hey there, sexy,” the cringe level of that greeting was over nine thousand.

 

I turn to see my new drink buddy. And by drink buddy, I mean, he’ll buy me a drink so he can hopefully get laid which is so not going to happen. At least, not with him. Because no. Bartender maybe. This guy’s big and burly, with a full beard and two full sleeves of tattoos. He looks like he’s trying to hard to be masculine. Butch bitch. He’s got a nice smile, but there’s something about his brown eyes that doesn’t sit well with me.

 

“Can I get you a drink, Princess?” he asks. I almost wince at the name. Only Dean is allowed to call me that. And only because it’s far too late to try and fucking stop him. If he calls me that one more time, I swear to god, this is gonna get ugly.

 

“It’s a free country,” I say boredly, dropping a little of the French and adding a little more of the elegant British. Hopefully he’ll take the hint and get that I’m way out of his league. Hell, I’m out of the league of half the population of America.

 

He flags down Randal who takes one look at my less than bemused face and knows exactly what’s up, “Another of what she’s drinking, barkeep.”

 

He glances at me and I shrug my shoulders just the slightest. The man sits in the stool beside me, placing a hand on my thigh. I shift my leg from under his hand and absently swirl the left over ice from my last drink in the cup. Randall slides me another full glass. Butch slams a twenty on the counter.

 

“So what brings you to this lil old town, Sweet Thang?” he asks, “A girl like you’s a lil too city for Lebanon doncha think?”

 

“I’m here visiting very good friends of the family,” I say.

 

“Really?” he looks around, giving me what’s supposed to be a knowing look, “So, uh, where are they?”

 

I raise my brows, “Does it matter?”

 

“I would just hate to see a pretty little thing like you by yourself,” he says, sliding his hand onto my thigh and gripping it with an iron grip, “Any manner of thing could happen.” I don’t move, but he seems to take that as encouragement. He leans forward, his breath hot and sticky and booze-y on my cheek, “What say we take this out to my truck? You seem like you'd have one helluva o face. Have you heard that before, Baby girl?”

 

I throw back the rest of my drink, look him dead in the eye and say as I stand up, “Listen buddy, here’s a pro tip … being a dick, won’t make yours any bigger.” I turn and start to walk away. I hear the scrape of a barstool and then feel a hand clamp around my ass cheek. Oh boyyyy, he didn’t. But he did. “I’m gonna give you until the count of three to release me. I think that’s pretty fair, don’t you?” I wonder if I have some sort of stripper aura that just attracts rape-y dipwads. That would be my luck, wouldn’t it?

 

“C’mon, baby,” he whines, “You gotta give me something. I got ya a drink. Maybe just a little head.”

 

I scan the room for Sam and Dean. I see Sam in the far corner playing pool with a big ole group of guys, but Dean is nowhere to be seen. Lovely. There’s no way I’m getting Sam’s attention from here, not with how packed the bar is. I’m starting to panic a little. This hits a bit too close to home. Suddenly, his hand falls from my ass. I hear the distinct sound of a punch, a gasp, a thud. When I turn around, Randal is standing between me and Butch.

 

“Larry, if I see you round here again, it’ll be the cops hauling your ass out,” he says, “Assault is a no-no, in case your mom never told you.”

 

“Elvira?” I look behind me to see Sam, “Are you okay? Where’s Dean?”

 

“I’m fine, thanks to Randal here. Bastard just got a little too handsy,” I say, my American accent coming out. Randal’s totally gonna think I was playing him. Which is like fifteen percent true. Okay. Thirty.

 

“But you’re okay?” Sam asks.

 

I nod, “Good as gold, Samuel. Oh, and I have no idea where your brother went.”

 

“I’ll see if I can find him,” Sam says, “Thanks man, for keeping an eye out. We would have lost it if she’s been hurt.” Aww, Sam. My cold dead heart beats again. Seriously though, that warmed my heart and made me smile. Although the we bother me. Dean wouldn’t give two shits. At least that’s what I’ve gotta tell myself.

 

“Thanks Sam,” I say, slapping him on the back, “You should go find Dean. I’d like to talk to Randal here and thank him … personally.”

 

Sam looks confused for a second before his eyes widen, “O-oh, yeah, uh, I’m just, I’ll go check the car.”

 

Sam disappears and I turn to Randal, “They’re like family.”

 

He smiles and kinda gives me a look, “You know … I’m not expecting anything. I did it because you looked scared … in a way that no one deserves to look.”

 

I smile and slip back into my French accent, “I know. And that makes it even better. Thank you.”

 

“Will you come dance with me?” he asks, “My shift’s over. And you’re gorgeous. And I’d really like to dance with a gorgeous girl who may or may not be French.”

 

I laugh, “I am. Like I said though, I grew up here so I can slip on accents like lingerie.”

 

He grins, “Is that a yes?”

 

I nod. He takes my hand and leads me to the speaker system. They have an iPad bolted in and connected to Spotify. He picks a slow ballad before pulling me onto the dancefloor. He wraps one arm around my waist, and his free hand takes mine. I wrap my arm loosely around his neck. The dancing we do is really more swaying than anything else. But it’s tender, and sweet. And for some reason my mind thinks that it’s everything Dean isn’t.

 

We pause dancing every now and again to talk and have some drinks. I’m well past buzzed, but not quite hammered and we’re still dancing. Both my arms draped around his neck, his arms loosely hugging my hips, swaying to the sift slow songs. Slowly, the bar stars to clear out. God, it must around one or two in the morning. At least. I’m starting to get tired. But I’m also wired at the same time.

 

“Hey, mind if I cut in?” Dean’s voice behind me nearly makes me jump and definitely gives me goosebumps.

 

Randal glances at me and I say, “It’s fine. I know this mo-mother-fu-fu. I give up. This guy,” you can definitely hear the booze in my voice. Randal nods and gives me the most bittersweet smile, before stepping away from me and walking back to the bar. I have the strangest feeling I’ll never see him again.

 

Dean steps up and wraps his arm around my waist and he takes my hand with his. I look at him for a second. Everything is sort of hazy. His eyes, they’re so green. I wonder if anyone sees my eyes the way I see his. Green like the sun shining through spring leaves on an oak tree. And he smells so good. He smells so good. I’m so sick of him holding me at arms length. This is dumb. This is soooo stupid. I forgot how intoxicating he is. Every thought of Randal is banished from my mind. He was just the cheap whisky. Dean, Dean’s the fine scotch.

 

“If you’re gonna dance with me Winchester,” I say, grabbing a hold of his shirt and pulling myself closer to him, “Then dance with me. Let’s not do this half assed.”

 

He smiles and shakes his head before pulling me close to him and wrapping both his arms around my waist. Similar to what Randal was doing, but it feels different. Even better. Like we’re pieces cut from the same cloth just fitting together. I rest my head against his chest. And I can hear his heart beat. Through the booze. Through the music. Maybe around it. Maybe over it. It’s steady. And strong. Maybe I’m drunker than I thought. We finish out a couple songs before Dean starts to extricate himself from me.

 

“We should go home now, Princess,” his voice is strained. The voice of someone doing something they have to do, but really don’t want to.

 

I nod. We head out to the Impala, with Dean half leading, half completely supporting me. He helps me into the passenger side before going around to the driver’s side and getting in. He’s silent as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. I lean my head back against the seat, watching the streetlights flash by against the ceiling.

 

“Where’s Samuel?” I ask, my words slurring a bit.

 

“I brought him back to the bunker a while ago,” Dean says.

 

We fall into silence again. But it seems forced. Like he wants to say something to me. The rest of the drive passes quickly. We pull into the garage of the bunker. Dean shuts the Impala off and we sit there for awhile, in the cover of darkness. I curl up on the sleep. It’s comfortable here. Maybe I’ll sleep here. There’s something he needs to say. Even intoxicated I know that. But I can’t make him say it. So I’ll wait. I probably won’t remember in the morning, but I’ll wait until I don’t remember what I was waiting for.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, his voice rough and dark.

 

“What for?” I ask, my voice soft, sleepy, drunk.

 

“I shoulda been there,” he says, and I want to touch him, so badly, “I shoulda stopped you from getting hurt by those guys back with Donna’s niece. I shoulda been there with you tonight. Instead, some stranger saves you. I couldn’t save you because I was too busy being an arrogant dick. I was so caught up in worryin’ about you, and bein’ pissed at you for bein’ so stubborn that I forgot to look out for you. And doesn’t that just fucking sounds like me. I keep telling you not to leave, but maybe you should because you’re just gonna end up hurt if ya keep on with us.”

 

I crawl over to him, trying my best not to fall of the seat, and I slip a couple times, but I make it to him. My hands press against his chest. I pull myself into his lap until I’m straddling him. My hands run through his hair, and I can feel his head, tilted downward. I take my hands and run them on either side of his neck, fingers pausing at his jawline, tilting his head upward. My hands drop down to his, hanging limply beside him, and I place them on the small of my back. His grip is loose, but his fingertips rest against the exposed skin all the same. I want him to hold me, to touch me.

 

“Dean, you were there for me,” I say, “You carried me out of there.” And I can’t help myself, I press my lips to his. He doesn’t move. “You held me when I cried. You listened. You saved me. I’m not dead because you were there.”

 

I kiss him again, his lips tremble against mine like he’s fighting the urge to kiss me. Like it’s tearing him apart. And I know it is. His fingers press harder against the small of my back. “It’s not your fault that I’m a stubborn moro-.” His fingers dig into the small of my back as he pulls me as tight to him as I can possibly get. His mouth finds mine, hungry and desperate, in the darkness. His tongue pushes against my lower lip, and I gladly let him explore my mouth. He leans forward, holding me to him. His lips abandon my mouth in favor of hot little nibbles down my neck and I moan. Dean groans at the sound, his hands sliding further and further up my back, his fingers fire against my skin, slipping under the lacy edge of my bra. And then he stops. He just stops. And he sighs, frustratedly. I’m drunk. And he’s gorgeous. But even if I wasn’t drunk, he’d still be gorgeous. And I want him.

 

“Why are you stopping?” I whisper.

 

“Because … if I ever touch you Princess, really touch you,” he says, “I don’t want you to be drunk. I want you to be fully aware that it’s my name you’re screaming.”

 

I collapse against him and he wraps his arms around me, “He called me Princess.” I say it against his neck.

 

“Who did?” Dean asks.

 

“The guy who grabbed me tonight,” I say, my words slurring together as sleep and intoxication win out now that the sex adrenaline is gone, “He called me Princess. And all I could think about was how you’re the only one who gets to call me that.”

 

I’m not sure because I’m fading fast but I think I can feel him smile against my hair


	19. Dangerous Territory and Hostile Takeovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know ... Work has been crazy and I'd like an exit button from life right about now. Ya feel, cuz I feel. Plus I lost a bunch of chapters that tookforever to recover. But anyways, here it is.

**Chapter 19: Dangerous Territory and Hostile Takeovers**

 

I wake up in my bed without much recollection of how I got there. Ah, lack of memories. What a familiar feeling. Well, at least this time it’s my own doing. I’ve got a wicked headache. And my mouth’s as dry as hell’s asshole. I sit up and scrub at my eyes to hopefully rub the sleep out of them. Man, I’ve got to piss. I stumble out of bed. My head pounds even harder as I throw open my door and slip into the hallway. I make it to the bathroom and relieve myself. Ah, pissing with a full bladder is one of the most underrated sensations.

 

I stand up and wash my hands. I traipse down the hall, heading to the kitchen. Dean’s there, leaning back in a chair, flipping through a music magazine on Led Zeppelin. He looks up at me, and his eyes widen. He buries his nose back in his magazine. I shoot him a look.

 

“So today is a pretend-like-Elvira-doesn’t-exist day?” I ask, walking to the cupboard for a glass for water.

 

“I’m not pretending you don’t exist,” Dean mutters.

 

I fill my glass and chug it. My mouth is a little less dry. I refill the glass and throw that one back too. Then I walk over to Dean and stand behind him, leaning over his shoulder. I can see his breathing quicken, feel his shoulders tighten. The full gravity of what I did last night hits me. If he wasn’t sure if I wanted to jump his bones then, he damn well is now. I straighten up and step to his side just as he stands up on the same side and turns so he’s facing me. My face flushes, and I step to the side as he steps to the side. Then I step back as he steps back. I let out a growl of frustration.

 

“God fuckity,” I mumble, “Pick a side and stick with it.”

 

I step to the side, allowing him to pass. He walks by me, saying nothing. I bite my lip. He obviously has no interest. He was emotionally vulnerable both times we made out, feeling like he’s got to protect me. I’m sick of it. It’s a mind fuck, thinking he wants me. Then having to smell the bitter scent of reality the next day when I realize he doesn’t. The whole kissing thing needs to stop. All it does is confuse me.

 

I grab one those cheap 7-11 muffins out of one of the cupboards. The boys have a serious stash of these things. I tear open the package and sit down at the table, in the spot Dean abandoned. He comes back through the door, holding a little white medicine bottle. He tosses it at me and I miraculously catch it. I turn the bottle in my hand to read the label. Ibuprofen. I look back up at Dean.

 

“Figured you’d have one hell of a headache,” he says.

 

“Thanks,” I say. I pop back four pills.

 

He opens his mouth, looking at me, but then his jaw snaps shut and he shifts his gaze away. I look away from him, setting the bottle of pills on the counter. Then, I scram. I flee to the library, plopping myself into the nearest arm chair. God, I don’t know what to do with Dean. Or our interactions. Or anything. My body has betrayed me.

 

“Hey, where’s Dean?” he asks.

 

“Why … why would you ask me that? I don’t know how you’re brother spends his time,” I say.

 

He gives me a look, a very weirded out look, “ I was, uh, just checking if you’d maybe … seen him.”

 

“Right, uh, I - he was in the kitchen,” I say.

 

He gives me another look, “Did you guys get into again last night?”

 

I press my lips together, before muttering, “You could say that.”

 

He shoots me a look before wandering down the hall towards the kitchen. I stand up and peruse the shelves of the library. My hand comes in contact with a Greek book. The title roughly translates to Space Between the Earths. Very roughly. For some reason, I’m drawn to it. My fingers grip the spine and I feel it, instantly. The pull, the wave of my memories. This hasn’t happened in a long while. Maybe I’m fucking overdue.

 

“Boys!” I yell, “A little – a little help here … please.” My footing slips and I start to fall. I see Sam run in and freeze for a split second, but Dean dives for me. I feel my soul exit my mortal body, and watch as it crashes down into his arms. I have one moment, one moment to watch as Dean’s lips form my name in slow motion over and over, the veins in his neck popping, his face red. Then I’m sucked backwards, like a sailboat into a whirlpool.

 

I’m standing behind myself and a group of other girls, all of passing around a couple of cigarettes beneath the bleachers. The smoke curls around my face. My hair is cut short, too short and in layers, and I have bangs. Wow, looks like whatever year this was a disaster for me. Just, you know, basing it off my shitty hair decisions.

 

“Hey, Vira,” a short girl with a slim nose and the most beautiful brown eyes says, “Pass the joint.”

 

I take a closer look at those cigarettes. And indeed, they are not cigarettes. I pass the joint to the girl. Whoo wee, I was a rebel. Getting cheech and chonged under the bleachers at school. We’re all wearing uniforms. The crest emblazoned (blaze, haha) on the front of the garish green sweater vest is of a Celtic cross with rays of light protruding from it and St. Anne’s embroidered above it. And at a Catholic school, even better. I would totally hi five myself, because man, I was fucking awesome.

 

“Shit, we’re gonna be late for Greek,” one of the other girls, a slim blonde with tits so big they look like they’re fake, says.

 

“So?” I demand, plucking the joint out of the girl who asked for it’s fingers.

 

“So,” Blonde-Big-Tits says, “Not all of us have rich daddies who are English royalty to keep us here.”

 

I roll my eyes, “Whatever Alison. Go. And for the record, my dad’s like, barely, royalty. He’s like a cousin thrice removed or some shit like that.”

 

She sighs, “Either way, he can pay to keep you here.” Then she disappears, taking all the girls but one, the one with the brown eyes.

 

“What whores,” she mutters, “Maybe I should let it slip that Alison’s sucking the history teacher off when he tutors her.”

 

I snort, “She’d deserve it, but don’t. They’ll get found out eventually. She hates me enough as it is.”

 

The girl frowns, “It’s cuz she sees you as this girl with the perfect life that’s just throwing it away.”

 

“Am I, Roma?” I ask, looking at her, “Am I throwing it away?”

 

“No,” the girl, Roma, says firmly, “She has no idea what you go through with your dad.”

 

I sigh, “It’ll be easier when we’re eighteen.”

 

She raises the joint up, which has enough for two people to each have a hit, “Here’s to turning eighteen.”

 

Her voice is an echo as I am ripped backwards through time, or maybe it’s forwards. I honestly don’t know. Maybe I’m being bounced back and forth. Then I crash land in a play ground. I’m older, twenty, maybe. I’m sitting in a swing. Ryan is behind me pushing me. I’m laughing and smiling and hollering for him to push me higher. The swing starts to slow and I smile into a kiss.

 

“I think you should do it,” he says, “Become a stripper. You can’t help that your dad cut you off. And you want to go to college. It’s not like you’re signing up to be a hooker. There’s a difference between looking and touching.”

 

“Really? You think I should?” I ask.

 

He nods, “You’re dad’s an asshole. And this is temporary, just to pay your college bills.”

 

I nod, “Thank you, Ryan. For supporting me.”

 

I’m ripped through memories again until I’m standing in front of that on coming car again, in my black trench coat. I watch myself as I throw my hands up to shield myself, like it would do much good. The car comes speeding, speeding, speeding until a golden crack appears and swallows me whole. The memory continues as a thick distant floating black feeling and then another crack opens in the blackness and spits me out. I lay still for a moment, my eyes closed. But they flicker open. I know this. I know this part. My spirit rejoins with my body, but the memory continues. I haul myself to my feet on wildly unsteady legs and stumble down the endless hall among the endless bookshelves with the numberless black books. Death’s reading room. I blink and suddenly I’m tossed into open space, the darkness is endless. And then the eyes open, a pair of endless depthless blue eyes. I am an ant in comparison. A speck of dust.

 

“My daughter,” his soul-shattering voice says, “I’m coming for you. I am looking.”

 

And then I’m falling and falling and falling until I jolt back into my body, my lungs screaming for air that doesn’t come, my body thrashing as my soul rejoins it. My head doesn’t hit the ground. My body goes limp and my eyes fly open as a gush of air fills my vacant lungs. Dean. Dean is here. And I can’t help myself. I feel both relieved and guilty. As soon as my eyes open, his face transforms into a stone cold mask.

 

“Elvira,” Sam’s face appears in my field of vision, “What happened?”

 

Dean helps me sit up. I push myself out of Dean’s lap and stumble over to the table. I can still feel it raging through my veins, I can feel him, like acid in my bloodstream. No control. I have no control. I want to yell at Sam and Dean: Code Red! We have a Code Red! Hostile Takeover! My mouth isn’t my own and my lips won’t form the words. I look at the brothers who are staring at me in shock. I cry out in agony. My hand trembles and reaches out for a pen sitting idly on the table. I grasp it in an awkward fist. I raise the pen and jam it into my own arm, and warm wet blood gushes from the wound as I pull the pen out. My scream echoes through the bunker and Sam and Dean lunge forward. Dean rips the pen out of my iron grip, but that’s fine. That’s fine, my body doesn’t need it anymore. I collapse to my knees. My fingers dip into my blood and start writing.

 

I don’t recognize the symbols on the floor. I don’t know them. I paint and paint in my own blood until my body once again goes limp. I’ve painted myself into a circle of blood symbols. Wow. That’s … morbid. And not, you know, a bad omen at all. Sam and Dean are staring at me like I might very well be possessed. And I suppose I was in a way. My breathing is heavy as I stare at the symbols.

 

“What … the hell?” Dean barks.

 

I look up from my handiwork, “He’s coming for me.” I pause and I look down at the symbols again, “I can’t read that, by the way. I don’t even know what it is.”

 

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, Princess,” Dean mutters, carefully lifting me out of the circle, “Before you decide to go all seppuku on us again.”

 

He leads me to the bathroom. There he carefully rinses my self-inflicted wound, his hands gripping my arm gently, but firmly. The cool water soothes the ragged hole I’ve left on myself. He shuts the water off abruptly and sits me down on the toilet. When I’m situated, he rifles around in the drawer until he pulls out a rolls of soft flat cotton strips and sticky gauze. He kneels on one knee in front of me.

 

He takes my arm into his hand and carefully presses the cotton onto the wound. I don’t even wince, I just watch him. He lets go and unwinds some of the gauze before taking my arm again and pressing more cotton down before wrapping it thoroughly with the gauze. When he’s through, his chin tilts up and he’s looking me in the eyes. Dangerous territory. This is such dangerous territory. His rough calloused hands, hardened from years of hard dangerous work, slide down my soft supple arms until they rest in my hands.

 

“Talk to me,” he says, “Princess. You know you want to.”

 

His eyes hold that dancing joking light, but behind them there’s something else. Princess. Nicknames. And hitting each other. And insulting each other. And talking about how bad the other wants you. Those are how we deal with this. Somewhere, the line between desire and hatred got blurred and so did the line between friendship and strangers. And now we’re at this strange impasse where neither of us is willing to go all the way for what’s probably a variety of reasons. I mean, choose your flavor. I’m probably gonna go all Winter Soldier on their asses any time now. They’ve got all that shit with their mom. And Jack. But I can’t help but wonder if maybe we deserve it. We deserve to just wantonly fuck each other however we please. We deserve a distraction. A reprieve. Now that, that’s my vagina speaking. My head knows that would be a bad idea. There are bigger fish to fry.

 

“I’m from another world,” my voice cracks, and his eyes widen, and my face dips, “I’m from another world. And I fell into Death’s reading room.”

 

“Do you know how you got here?” Dean asks. I’m acutely aware of his hands in mine. His finger twitches and I can feel his skin brushing mine, warm calloused flesh against soft flesh.

 

I shake my head and look up again, making eye contact again, “He’s coming for me Dean. And he won’t stop until he has me.” His face searches mine. And his eyes, they’re so so green, my voice comes out as a whisper. “Dean … what am I?”

 

His hands tighten around mine and his eyes are fierce, “You’re family. That’s what. And whatever it is, we’ll stop this. We’ll gank your Papi before he has the chance to come around and Helen of Troy you.”

 

“Helen was kidnapped by a man in love with her … from her husband,” I point out, “Not her dad from a couple of backwood hicks.”

 

He shrugs, “Eh, close enough.”

 

But it’s not close enough, not even. It hits me like a punch in the stomach. My dad is coming. He’s coming for me. And there’s not a damn thing either of these two boys can do about it. I’m on my own. I have to save myself. And I almost shatter right there. But I remind myself that I’m family now and I can’t shatter because if I do then these boys will know there’s really no hope at all. And I can’t have that. Especially Sam, he needs to believe there’s hope for me. So instead, I crack jokes, and make jabs. Gluing myself together with cheap smiles and a healthy dose of salt.

 

I roll my eyes, “I’m surprised you know enough Greek Mythology to even make that reference.”

 

He smiles, “I know a lot about a little, and a little about a lot, Sweetheart.”

 

“Really now?” my voice is coy. And my head is screaming mistakes are being made as it’s coming out of my mouth.

 

“Really,” he says, his voice equally flirtatious.

 

I lick my lips, and I catch his eyes darting to my mouth, however brief, “Like what?”

 

His hands drop to my thighs, resting firmly on them, hard enough to make heat start to pool in my core, but soft enough not to hurt. He leans forward just the slightest, his head tilted up to make eye contact with me. A shiver rolls down my spine and settles in the pit of my stomach. And it’s not a bad feeling. I swallow down excess saliva and some nerves.

 

“Like, biology,” he says, his voice lurid, promising hot sensual pleasure. His mouth is slightly open, his teeth resting on his lower lip. And, my god, I want him to take a bit out of me. “And … chemistry.” His hands slide a little, so his thumbs are resting on my inner thighs. I’m going to burst. I swear I’m going to fucking collapse in on myself right here. For all his teasing, and all his taunting, I know he wants me too.

 

“Hey guys,” Sam rounds the corner into the bathroom. Dean’s hands release my thighs and he stands up, faster than I thought possible. Still, Sam’s not dumb. He looks between Dean and I. “Sorry … Was I interrupting something?”

 

“Only me tellin’ Elvira here that she needs to be more careful what kind of riffraff she lets controls her meat suit,” Dean growls out. His tone is clear. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

 

Sam looks between us again, but makes the wise move and lets it go, “I took pictures of the symbols and cleaned them up. Maybe we can find someone who can read them, or at least tell us what they are.”

 

I nod, “Thanks, Sam.”

 

Sam leaves and I silently curse him. He could have at least stayed to play buffer while I exited the room. I stand up and walk past Dean. I can feel him watching me. And more importantly, I can feel his warmth as I pass him. And I swear my breathing stops for a second. Dangerous. This is bad. His hand catches my arm as I walk past. I look up at him, his mouth is pressed into a thin line and his eyes search my face.

 

“Elvira,” his voice is unreadable, “Be careful. I have a bad feeling about this.”

 

I smile wryly, “I’d be worried if you had a good feeling about it, actually.”

 

“I’m serious,” he says.

 

I stop smiling and say, “What makes you think I wasn’t?”

 

His hand releases my arm. And I swear, unlike every other time he’s let go of me, there’s a reluctance there. And it takes everything in me to turn around and walk out of the bathroom. I know it’s bad. I know we shouldn’t be doing this with each other. And that this is dangerous. That he’s dangerous. That I’m dangerous. That he’s the kerosene and I’m the match. But I just can’t seem to let him go easily. I’m too stubborn to delve into why. Because that would be dangerous territory. And, um, no thanks.

 

As I’m walking away, I hear him mutter, “It ain’t even noon and I already need a beer.”

 

Same Dean. Same Dean. Except, beer is nasty. So, again, no thanks.

 

 


	20. Various & Sundry Villains (Or a Chapter of Tomfuckery)

**Chapter 20: Various & Sundry Villains (Or a Chapter of Tomfuckery)**

  
  
Sam and I are sitting at the table of library when Dean appears. He’s holding a stack of books. He looks between Sam and I before starting to pop the books on the table, saying the title with each one he drops. These are some serious reading, dense and heavy.

 

“Alright, we’ve got Principia Phantasmagoria, we have … Archive of the Unnatural Occurrences, and we’ve got Jower et Nuet,” Dean says, dropping each book on the table after he says the name.

 

Sam pick’s up the last book and scoffs, glancing at me like ‘can you believe him’, “It’s _Jour et Nuit_. It’s, uh, it’s French.”

 

“Ooh, Fancy,” Dean says, clearly unimpressed, “Guess that one’s up to you Elvira. So this is everything that even mentions alternate realities. There’s gotta be something in here that talks about Apocalypse World, am I right?”

 

The only reason I’m not telling him to eat my dick is because they’ve saved my life a couple of times now. And I don’t like feeling like I owe them. And since Calenmai seems like he’s a being of alternate realities, maybe we’ll find something to help us out on that front. But, like everything, that’s large fucking maybe.

 

Sam shrugs, “Yeah, maybe.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes, “Dude!”

 

Sam sighs, “I’m just saying, Dean. Jack was our way over there obviously. So with him gone-.”

 

“Okay, well, Jack’s been gone before,” Dean’s irritation is becoming increasingly evident, “We found him once, we can find him again.”

 

“No, no! He didn’t run away! He is literally in an alternate reality,” Sam points out.

 

“Okay, well, so we come up with a plan B,” Dean says, “You said it yourself! We keep our heads down and we do the work!”

 

Sam looks at me once again with disbelief. I hold my hands up and shake my head. No way am I getting in the middle of a Winchester spat. Nopeity nope. That’s on my list of things that may or may not get me killed. I will help them do their damn research, but I shall not take sides. Sam looks back at Dean.

 

“You said that,” Sam says.

 

Dean makes that stupid fair enough face of his and says, “Well, I was right.”

 

Sam and I exchange glances and all he says is, “Yeah.”

 

“So you read, do your Sam thing,” Dean says, gesturing to the pile of books, “I’m gonna go for a beer run. We should probably loop Cas in at some point.”

 

“We’ll fill him in when he calls,” Sam says, “He checks in every day.”

 

“Yeah, with a bunch of questions and no leads,” Dean points out. There is something a little off about that. But, hey, who am I? I’m just along for the ride at this point. You know, unless Calenmai shows up and decides to destroy their world.

 

“I’m sure he’s doing the best he can,” Sam says, “Now go get your beer or … whatever.”

 

With that Dean leaves the two of us alone. I start reading Jour et Nuit more thoroughly than when I was first here. There’s a very heavy silence now. If I’m reading everything correctly, Sam’s getting a little worn out on this whole thing. Obviously, he’s very depressed and is ready to give up. Honestly, I feel for the guy. He’s got an impossible situation.

 

“It’s kinda weird,” I say, “I’m not really sure who Cas is or whatever. But he calls exactly once a day. He never has anything to offer, he’s only asking questions. Mostly on if you’ve made any progress on finding Jack. It’s like he’s just trying to feed off your work.”

 

Sam looks at me, “Huh, I never thought of it like that.”

 

It’s an hour, maybe, when Dean returns. He comes in whistling. Which is weird. But either Sam doesn’t notice, or it really isn’t that weird. Considering everything that’s been going on though, especially with my little terminator this morning, I’m surprised he’s in such bells and whistles mood.

 

“Hey, uh, I think you might be right. It might be time to go ahead and call Cas,” Sam says, “Because, i-if, he, uh … Are you alright?”

 

Dean strides up to us with this weirdo grin on his face. He looks like he had an orgy with twenty lesbians and won the lottery all at once. May I just say? What the actual fuck is going on with him and his mood swings. Someone needs to get that boy some birth control because, man, he’s acting like a chick with out of whack hormones. Dean looks Sam in the eye, dead ass.

 

“Am I alright?” he asks, “I’m in love.”

 

Um, what? Excuse me, who are you and what have you done with Dean Winchester. I’d like the broody dick-ish (I can’t believe I’m thinking this) one back please and thanks. For some reason, there’s this pinch in my gut and I feel the need to ignore it. Because I can’t deal with my own shit right now. We’ve got bigger fish to fry. Sam and I exchange glances. Well, that’s a new one. And also probably false. Or some sort of witchcraft. So some sort of fuckery is up. And I am not down for it.

 

“You, uh, oh are you?” Sam asks, his eyebrows raised at his brother. Sam glances at me.

 

I shrug, “He’s your dumbass, not mine.” Sam snorts.

 

“I mean, I am like full-on twitterpated here,” Dean says, his eyes have this weird glaze. Gross. Is this what people in love sound like, “Seriously, I can’t wait for you to meet her either. I mean, she’s sweet, and she’s beautiful. And she’s just kinda sorta perfect. Anyway, I’m thinking of asking her to move in with me here. If that’s cool, cause this is big time.” As he talks, he makes his way over to a chest of drawers and starts unboxing something.

 

“It’s not cool,” I say boredly, “There’s only room for one girl here. We have two? Cat fights are guaranteed. No cat fights. Maybe I’ll have to piss all over everything.”

 

“Elvira, Elvira, Elvira,” Dean says, “You don’t make the rules. I mean, come on, this is barely your home.”

 

Okay. Ouch. I glance at Sam and mouth, “Well, it was worth a try.”

 

Dean pulls out the thing he was unboxing. A book. Sam sits up a little straighter, eyeing the book sharply.

 

“Dean, uh, what are you doing with the Black Grimoire?” Sam asks, his voice suspicious and a little panicked.

 

He places his hand on the book lovingly, “It’s a gift. For Jamie.”

 

Sam scrambles out of his chair, “Uh, Jamie?”

 

Dean looks off into the distance and in a cloudy voice he says, “My soulmate.”

 

My gut twinges again. I need to get my bullshit sorted. This can’t be real life. Sam isn’t having any of it either. Smart boy. Well, that’s one way to differentiate between the two brothers (you know, aside from the fact that they look nothing alike). One’s a smarty pants, the other’s a fucking dumb ass. You guess which is which. Also, why does it have to be the dumb ass I’m attracted to.

 

“Sure. Right,” Sam says, “And, uh, did she happen to ask for this book by name?”

 

“Yeah!” Dean says, clearly thrilled, “Isn’t that kinda cosmic fate that we happened to have it!? Like brhfdhg.” He does the mind blown gesture. Well bud, I think you blew something for sure. And it probably was your mind.

 

“Cosmic Fate,” Sam repeats, “Yeah. Sure. Okay. Okay. Okay. I think I know what’s going on here. Do you remember, uh, B-Becky in Vegas? The love spell?”

 

The response comes in .0005 seconds, “No.”

 

Sam sighs exasperatedly, “M – Okay, I think Jamie must be a witch or a demon.”

 

Dean immediately goes on the defensive, “Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah, whooah.”

 

“What?” Sam demands.

 

“Be nice.” Dean says, “Cause she’s got a sister! If you play your cards right, you might fall for each other. Ya know, the less attractive siblings, they fall in love. That’s kinda cute, right? Huh?” He sorta gives me a disgusted side eye, “Unless, you’re into Elvira here.” Okee dokee. _Double ouch._

 

This isn’t gonna end well. Sam’s getting more and more agitated. “Wait! Just hold on a second!”

 

“I can’t wait, cause she’s waitin’ for me at the market, so I’m just gonna,” He reaches for his keys, but Sam’s faster and already has them. Dean looks from Sam to the keys. “You know what? That’s alright. I’m just gonna walk. Cause it’s gorgeooouuus outside.”

 

“Hang on a second,” Sam pleads, “Wait!”

 

Sam tries to grab him, but faster than I can believe, Dean turns around and decks him. I jump to my feet and start after him before he whirls around. The grin on his face is almost painful to look at. This is getting a tad out of hand. I hold up my hands in a display of friendship. Dean stills for a second.

 

“Dean, don’t you think we should talk about this?” I ask, my voice as non threatening as possible.

 

“Nothing to talk about, El,” he says. Normally he’d call me Princess or Sweetheart, and it would annoy me. But for some reason, it annoys me more that he’s not using any of those name. I take a step forward and he says, “Hey, I don’t wanna lay you out, El, but I will. I hafta get to Jamie quick.”

 

I weigh my options in my head. If I let him go, he’ll take the book straight to those girls. But he’ll also leave me awake and then I can get Sam back on his feet and we can hunt him down faster. I decide to just let him go. I step back. Then he’s gone. Well, fuck me. I run to the kitchen and grab a glass of water. I dash back to Sam and dump it on his face. He sits up with a gasp. He grabs my arms, looking me dead in the face.

 

“Where’s Dean?” he demands.

 

“He’s gone,” I say, “I tried to stop him, but I gave up because I didn’t think having us both knocked out would have been good.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says, “We’ve got to stop him.”

 

Agreed Samuel. Agreed.

 

Sam and I are in the Impala in seconds, racing towards the market. I’m pretty sure we’ve broken every driving law, but you know, some things are beyond the law. We whip into the parking lot. He jumps out of the car, yelling for two girls who look more like shallow self-absorbed bitches, to get away from Dean. His gun is out and cocked, aimed for the older girl. And not his fun gun. Dean flies off the handle and launches himself at Sam. I jump out of the Impala and beeline for those girls while Sam grapples Dean.

 

“Hey, Kardashians,” I say, as they’re turning to get in their car.

 

The older one turns to face me. She gives me a sarcastic pouty little smile. Then her face transforms into that of a raging dog. She tries to slap me across my face, but it’s like it’s in slow motion. I lean back, and catch her wrist, putting pressure onto the pressure point. I twist her wrist viciously, and flip her onto her back. Before I can pounce on her, she’s on her feet and lands a well-timed palm strike to the center of my chest. I go flying backwards hitting the dumpster with enough force that I’m surprised my spine didn’t crack. She gives me a honeyed smile before dropping into her car and speeding away.

 

“You okay, Elvira?” Sam calls.

 

“Mmm,” I wheeze, “Just, ya know, trying to remember how to breathe.”

 

Then I notice the woman. Long red hair, excessively dramatic make-up, high end clothes. She’s trying too hard, if I’m being honest, to be classy. I stand up, using the trash can for support. Oh, my god, everything fucking hurts and I’m gonna cry. She circles me like a vulture looking for a meal. I cross my arms over my chest, and raise my eyebrow at her. Despite the pain, I won’t be intimidated by another woman.

 

“Your insecurity is showing, dear,” she says in a thick Scottish accent, “Where’d you pick this one up, boys?”

 

“I’m definitely not the insecure one here,” I say, the voice that comes out of my mouth is the one from my memories. Normally, I consciously use it, but this time it came out of my mouth like my natural voice. “You’re makeup, darling, it’s a little tacky.”

 

She smiles primly, and clicks her tongue, “Well, aren’t you a mouthy one? Sam, we should get going if we want to catch those girls before they do something they shouldn’t with that book.”

 

We end up back at the bunker. The red-headed chick rides in the back seat with me. Though she ignores me completely. When we get there, we all traipse into the bunker. This lady walks around like she owns the place, going to the boys’ booze cupboard and pulling out the scotch. I sit between Sam and Dean across from where she stands. She pours three hands of scotch, miraculously skipping me. Oh, wait … that’s no miracle. She’s a just a bitch.

 

“Ask me,” she says, incredibly smugly, I might add.

 

Dean, who’s having none of her shit, says in a voice that tells her he’s having none of her shit, “How are you alive?”

 

Sam continues, “Yeah, Lucifer told us he killed you. Pretty, uh, pretty graphically.”

 

“And he did,” she replies, “But I take precautions to ensure that if I die … Tis temporary.”

 

“Are you talking about a resurrection spell, like last time?” Sam asks, having none of her shit now either.

 

She makes a little noise that seems like a maybe so, maybe no. I glance at Sam. She can’t be for real. I’m guessing based on their conversation that this woman’s a witch. And that these boys have a history with her. And not one that’s all sunshine butterflies.

 

“That being said,” she drawls, “It took a very long time to heal. And I’m not interested in it ever happening again. Which is why I need the Black Grimoire.”

 

“It’s pronounce Grim-ouah,” I say, letting my French accent out entirely.

 

She shoots me a glare, “Who is this little hussy anyways? Aren’t you boys normally the lone wolf type?”

 

“Doesn’t matter who she is,” Dean growls, “You’re not gonna say another damn word to her.”

 

The redhead whistles low, “Protective, are we Dean?”

 

I snort, “Yeah, right. And I’m a most holy nun. Probably be the happiest day of Dean’s adult life if I dropped off the planet.” Whoops. Shouldn’t have said that. I really shouldn’t have said that. Something flashes on Dean’s face before he puts on his usual ‘I’m Dean Winchester and I am a stone wall’ face. I roll my eyes, despite the weird twisty feeling in my stomach.

 

“What a coincidence,” Dean says, hustling us past the little jaunt in the discussion, “You happen to show up right when it’s been stolen.”

 

“Oh, no coincidence,” she replies with a smug little smile, “I felt the book moving.” She takes a sip of her scotch and smiles again, “In a moment of weakness, I may have put a tracking spell on the book behind your backs.”

 

Dean does not look impressed, “A moment of weakness, huh?”

 

“Why do you want it so bad? Why now?” Sam demands.

 

She huffs like Sam’s asked some sort of impertinent question, “Years ago the grand coven cast a binding spell,” she sighs again and makes the small gesture with her fingers, “limiting aspects of my magic. There’s a page in the Grimoire that may help.” God, the way she is saying Grimoire is really pissing me off.

 

Dean though, Dean is taking no shit, “Help you become more powerful. Yeeaaah, that’s what we want.”

 

“Help me protect myself!” she exclaims.

 

  
“Let me get this straight,” Sam interrupts, sitting forward in his seat, “You, you felt the book moving and you decided, what? You’d – you’d show up and just take it.”

 

She shrugs, “I was gonna ask you nicely for it, but …”

 

“Yeah, but you knew we’d tell you to go to hell,” Dean grouses.

 

“Exactly,” she says like it’s some sort of tragedy, “But now I’m – I’m worried the girls will damage the book … and you’re worried about the awful things they’ll do with it … so … let’s help each other, shall we?”

 

I glance between Sam and Dean. Okay, I can’t take much more of this overdramatic little twat. Also, who in the fuck is she? I lean back in my chair, smack dab between Thing 1 and Thing 2.

 

“Whoah, whoah, whoah,” I interrupt, “Okay, I feel like I was Matrixed into your lives twenty years too late. Who the hell is this?”

 

“Matrix?” Dean asks, glancing at me. I almost smile. This is good, normal. Not flirty, but good banter. I look back at him.

 

“Coulda gone with Pleasantvilled, would you have preferred that?” I ask, glancing at him.

 

He shrugs, “I dunno. I woulda gone with Jumanjied. Maybe Down the Rabbit Hole.”

 

I snort, “You certainly have a high opinion of your world. This ain’t no Wonderland, Winchester.”

 

“Pardon me for not introducing myself to the … lessers in the room,” the woman says, “I’m Rowena McLeod."

 

I roll my eyes, “Insulting me isn’t gonna do shit but fuel your own ego. You know that, right?”

 

“We don’t need your help,” Sam cuts in, “We’ve handled witches before.”

 

Dean smirks, leaning forward in his seat, “You’re familiar with our work, right?”

 

She smiles and approaches us, “Oh you Winchesters. I’ve changed. Honestly! Having your skull crushed and being burned alive can do that to a girl. And it’s my tracking spell, sooo if you want to find those girls. Weeell, lover?”

 

“Okay,” Dean’s head tilts to the side.

 

“You’ll need me,” Rowena says smugly, “Slaite.” She turns her back to us, presumably to pour herself some more scotch and says, “Oh, one more thing. Where’s my son?”

 

The boys exchange tense glances around me. Uh oh. I have a bad feeling things are about to get really fucking awkward. Sam kinda leans forward, clasping his hands together between his knees. Somebody’s about to give the ‘they died honorably’ speech. Though, with any child of hers, I’d bet the death was really less than honorable.

 

“He, uh, he died,” Sam says, glancing at Dean.

 

“Fergus is DEAD?” she demands.

 

“Yep,” Sam replies.

 

“Killed himself,” Dean adds, “For us.”

 

“Well, that doesn’t sound like him,” she says.

 

“Well, Fergus, uh, uh, … Crowley, he had changed … a lot,” Sam says. He nods. “You woulda been proud of him.”

 

“Is that so?” She asks, her voice cracking, “And I promise you, I’d much rather have a living son, even one that hated me, than a dead hero.”

 

“Because of him … Lucifer is trapped in another reality,” Sam tries to reason with her.

 

“Yeah, the devil’s gone,” Dean cuts in.

 

“Oh, don’t be stupid!” she whirls around, “He’s never gone!”

 

“Okay, listen,” Sam says, his voice strangely gentle, “I know what Lucifer is capa-.”

 

“Okay, can we not!?” she exclaims, “It’s like reminiscing about an abusive relationship! Why do that?” And I almost feel bad for her.

 

“Let’s get back to the book,” Dean orders, “What kinda hurt can these chicks do with it?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure they have big plans,” Rowena says.

 

“Sounds like you know ‘em,” Sam says.

 

“I just remember being a young, overly ambitious, wee witch,” she says, “And I have to give them some credit. Outfoxed you, didn’t they?” She chuckles, “Tell me … did they get to fifth base?”

 

I choke on my own saliva. Oh my god. Oh no. Oh dear. Dean glances at me before looking back at Rowena. His eyes are some combination of confused and wary. I bite lip, ordering myself not to laugh. Because I swear to god Imma bouta to lose my shit.

 

“There’s no such thing as fifth base,” he says, looking around at everyone.

 

“Oh, you poor … sheltered … boy,” she says slowly, smirking. “Anyway. What’s by is by, and who knows … maybe if I help you, you’ll change your minds about helping me.”

 

“No,” Dean is the first to respond.

 

“Not happening,” Sam adds.

 

She shrugs, “Well, maybe we should get going then.”

 

Sam and Dean go to gather supplies leaving me alone with the redheaded witch. I stay in my seat, watching her. Her sparkly lace dress is way over the top and seems just the thing a witch who’s trying to hard would wear. She smiles primly at me and I look at her through my lashes.

 

“So where exactly did you come from?” she asks.

 

I smile, tilting my chin up, “Maybe if you’re extra nice to me, I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

 

“No memories?” she asks, “Well, that’s convenient.”

 

I stand up, “I have to pack my stuff. And it’s not good for me to associate with the … what did you say … lessers.”

 

Her mask of cool falters for a split second. I smile as I sashay past her, heading to my room. What a bitch. Lemme just say, the faster we get rid of her, the faster I’ll be happy. I’m passing Dean’s room when he calls my name. I hesitate before I halt and poke my head through the door. We really shouldn’t be alone together. Not with … everything.

 

“Yeah?” I reply.

 

“So – you seemed like you knew what she was talking about,” Dean says, clearing his throat, “What’s – what’s fifth base?”

 

I nearly laugh. Instead, I saunter towards him, taking a firm grip on his shirt and pulling his ear down to my mouth level. I press my lips right against the shell of his ear. I can feel him tense up. I can hear him swallow. This could end poorly, but I can’t resist this perfect opportunity to screw with him. “It’s when you take it up the ass Dean. Really far … up the ass.” Dean chokes, yanking himself away from me. I laugh, a full deep belly laugh. Then I turn to walk away.

 

“You’re a bitch,” he calls.

 

“That from the guy who went to fifth base,” I say, over my shoulder, "You know, with how much porn you watch I'm surprised you didn't know."

 

“Hey, Elvira,” he says after a heartbeat pause. I hum in response, pausing in the doorway. I look back over my shoulder. He’s looking at me, something in his eyes I can’t read, something on his face I can’t make out. “You know … you know that’s a load of bullshit, right?”

 

Oh, dear. Oh, no. I should smile and say yeah and walk away. I feel like I’m wading into shark territory, but I can’t stop myself. Instead of doing what I should do, I (being the glorious genius that I am) do the thing I really shouldn’t do. I turn to face him, leaning against the doorframe.

 

“What is?”

 

“I don’t want you to disappear,” he says looking me in the eye. And I swear to god this is gonna be the death of me. This guy and those stupid green eyes. I take a deep breath and smile.

 

“You sure about that, Big Boy?” I say, my tone light, “I might make it my mission to annoy you.”

 

Humor. And nicknames. And barbed jabs. That’s how I backpedal out of this, whatever this possibly is. And well, everything. I avoid emotions with humor. Dean grins at me and I want to shoot myself in the foot. What the fuck is going on with me? Why am I like this? Get. Your. Shit. Together. I should leave. Right now. Before this gets even more out of hand. But it’s already spiraled out of my control.

 

“Princess, please,” he says, “I’ve already embarked on that mission.”

 

I roll my eyes and leave the room. God fuckity, okay. I need to cool my jets. My pulse is racing as I slip down the hall. And I don’t want to think about why. So instead, I sing Cotton-Eyed Joe in my head until it's all I can think of. Because better Cotton-Eyed Joe than the alternative. 


	21. An Exercise in Free Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okee dokee guys. We're getting there. I'm considering doing a double update with the next chapter TONIGHT, but y'all gotta let me know. If it's what you guys want, you definitely aren't gonna regret it. But that's all I'm gonna say about it. My lips are sealed. ;) Otherwise you'll have to wait until next week. Please, please, comment, kudos, bookmark ... it motivates me to keep writing and posting. Xx your friendly neighborhood ghost

**Chapter 21: An Exercise in Free Will**

 

We pull up in front of a big store. It might be a hardware store, it might be a grocery store. Rowena and I sit as far away from each other as we possibly can. Ultimately, Dean decides to go inside and ask around and I decide to go with him. Sam hangs back to babysit Red. Anything to get out of the car and away from this bitch of a witch. I follow him loosely inside the building. Dean walks straight up to the cashier. I continue to follow him, but more loosely. I decide it’s a hardware store.

 

“Hi there,” Dean says as he approaches the counter, “Been to a few other places, haven’t had much luck. I was hoping you could help me out.”

 

The cashier, a pretty woman with long hair, dark chocolate skin, and glasses smiles sweetly at him, “Oh, happy to try. What do you need?”

 

“I’m looking for these two girls, uh, in town,” Dean says, “Jenny and Jaime.”

 

He voice is dead flat, “Oh – the plum sisters.”

 

“Right, yeah, I’m looking to track ‘em down,” Dean’s gaze slides to me for a second, watching me play with one of those fidget spinners before redirecting his attention back to the nice cashier lady.

 

She snorts, “You and every other man West of the Ozarks.” Well, I take she’s had it up to here with their shit too. That’s actually good news. Enemy of my enemy and all that jazz.

 

“Popular, huh?”

 

“That’s one word for it,” she says and I can almost here her say but that’s none of my business, but she continues, “And a whole mess of trouble.”

 

“Well, they took something and I need to get it back,” Dean’s tone is slightly irritated, not at the woman, but at … well, everything.

 

“Heard it before, they stole your heart and ya need to get it back,” she says, “Can’t live without ‘em.”

 

“They stole a book,” Dean’s voice is flat.

 

“A book?” the cashier says, surprised. Little does she know Dean’s already been through the _It Is_ _The East! And Juliet Is the Sun_ bit. The woman bursts out laughing, “Honey, now I know you’re lyin’. I doubt they can even read.”

 

“Well, that has been up for debate,” Dean says, his face tired and haggard, “If it helps, I don’t plan on bein’ nice about it when I do find ‘em.”

 

The woman raises her eyebrows and purses her lips, giving Dean a pleased look before printing out a strip of receipt paper. Dean and I exchange glances. Well, girls like that can’t go far without being hated by other women. Not because they’re attractive or anything. But for the fact that they’re the kind of girls who take pleasure in getting ahead by cutting other women down at the knees.

 

“You gonna be really mean?” the woman clarifies, as she writes something down on the receipt paper.

 

“Yeah,” Dean nods.

 

She slaps the receipt paper down before him and looks him in the eyes, “It’s about damn time someone was.”

 

“Thank you,” Dean says with a small smile.

 

“You’re welcome,” she says in a voice that really means no, thank you. I put the fidget spinner back as Dean presses his palms into my shoulders and steers me out of the store. I look over my shoulder up at him, his eyes are straight ahead.

 

“Get your damn hands off me,” I mutter, “I’m not your kid.”

 

His hands drop from my shoulders and I’m almost disappointed. No, I’m not. At least that’s what I tell myself. You know, mind over matter, all that bullshit I guess. Sam and Red are both out of the car. Rowena is turned away from Sam a few steps into the parking lot. Dean pushes past me. Jeezus, what the fuck is his deal? Moody much? He and Sam exchange quick greetings.

 

“What’s goin’ on?” Dean asks.

 

“Uh, she, uh, she just needs a minute,” Sam says, “She’s alright.”

 

“Well, I got the address,” Dean says, “Rowena was right. These girls not fan favorites.” He chuckles. I sandwich myself between Sam and Dean. The redhead bitch joins us.

 

“Right,” she says, “Time to get that book.”

 

“Oh, no, no, no,” Dean says, shaking his finger at her, “You’ve done your bit. We’ll take it from here.”

 

She gives them a look, “I was afraid you might say that.” She turns on heel and starts walking away. We all start to follow her. Well, I’m following the boys, but they’re following her. She drops a little round bag on the floor and keeps walking. Pointing at it, she yells, “ _Manete_!” And keeps walking. Except we don’t. Our legs are frozen in place. You know, they almost deserve this. I coulda told you the second I met this bitch that she was gonna stab them in the back. And who was right? Me. That’s who.

 

“Rowena!” Sam yells, “Rowena stop!”

 

“Rowena damn it!” Dean shouts.

 

Sam is floundering like an idiot. And Dean is just staring at his feet. Dean starts flopping around. This is just … sad. These fools are being defeated by a little round bag. Sam bends over, desperately trying to reach the bag. We’re there for ten, fifteen minutes. No progress.

 

“Needed a minute, huh?” Dean says, staring out at the parking lot.

 

Sam grunts as he reaches, “You don’t have to say it, Dean.”

 

Dean holds up his hand, “Oh, I’m gonna say it. She played you.”

 

“She played … us,” Sam gets out, strained as it may be, “And she’s scared.”

 

“Yeah, well, she better be,” Dean says, “Come on, you’re like eight feet tall. You can’t reach that?”

 

Sam’s fingers are barely brushing the bag.

 

“You guys are so dumb,” I say. My feet may be glued to the goddamn ground, but I’m used to contorting my body in weird ways. I lean down, easing my hands onto the pavement. Slowly, I stretch my body out, my ass in the air. I imagine I’m in a pair of heels that will make me fall if I move them at all. I use my hands to crawl my torso forward, keeping my legs straight.

 

“She’s almost got it,” Sam says, as my hand is within a centimeter of the little evil bag.

 

Now here come’s the hard part. I brace one palm against the ground, then I lift my other one off and snatch the bag before my arm collapses. With the bag between my fingers, I slide my body into a standing position. I toss the bag at Dean who almost misses the catch because he’s still staring at me. Both – both – men are staring at me all woo woo moony-eyed. Seriously? Are we serious? I roll my eyes. I bend over a little and they’re drooling.

 

“I swear to god you guys forget I’m a stripper,” I mutter, “We’re on the clock, let’s get a move on.”

 

Dean shakes his head and lights the little bag up. As soon as it goes up, we all test our feet to see if they’re freed. I’m able to move mine so I assume it worked.

 

“Alright, let’s go kill some witches,” Dean says, turning to Sam he says, “Want that?” Then he tosses the bag at Sam who flinches away from it. Sam frowns before going over to the passenger side. I slide into the back seat and Dean drives. I feel a thousand times better now that Red’s gone. My back seat. No witches allowed. Especially not ones that are all uppity. Dean whips out of the parking lot racing to wherever we’re going.

 

We pull up in front of an unassuming suburban house five minutes later. Ah, the den of two witches nestled between Sharon the soccer mom and Cathy the wine aunt. Sam and Dean jump out of the car and I start to follow.

 

“Elvira stay there!” Dean barks, “This is above your paygrade.” Then they’re in the house.

 

I snort, “Like hell.” I get out of the car and run up to the door of the house, pushing my way in. I don’t know what I expect to see when I get in there. Not this, that’s for damn sure. Psycho zombie mom, check. Two Arnold Schwarzenegger Kardashian hybrids, check. Sam and Dean getting their asses kicked, check. Red about to get eaten alive by previously mentioned zombie mom, you know it. I stand there frozen for a moment staring at the actual shit storm that’s going down. Then I dive into action, really I’m forced to by a flying knife. If I’m being honest, I woulda been content to just chillax with a bowl of popcorn and see this play out.

 

“Magic won’t work on this abomination!” Rowena screams, trying to fend off the zombie with a table, “Got any suggestions?”

 

“Pop her in the forehead,” I yell back, “Or put her neck on the chopping block. _Walking Dead_ this shit!”

 

“No!” the older sister screams, distracting her long enough that Dean can force her back.

 

Both brothers fall to the floor with their respective partners. The younger sister blindly throws a mallet in my direction before lunging back onto Sam. I hit the deck to avoid getting whammied. I roll to avoid another knife tossed in my direction, my head colliding with some random piece of debris. The knife catches me in the lower calf though, despite my evasive tactics which really just fucked me up even more. I stifle a groan through my bit lip. Man, these hoes can multitask. And jesus christ that hurts. I can feel blood, warm and thick soaking into my pant leg. I hear a gunshot. I shift myseflf to see what's going on. Please, pleas don't let it be Sam or Dean. The older sister screams, her face twisted in horror and grief. And then Rowena sits up. And she is pissed. Seriously, pissed. The redhead holds up her hands.

 

“ _Impetes Bestiarum_!” she says.

 

The girls stand up, and Sam and Dean scramble to their feet in fighting stances. The girls though, something is different, off. Their movements are stone cold. And their eyes are dark, and bleeding. Blood trails down their flawlessly made-up cheeks from their eyes. Dean growls out Rowena’s name, but she ignores it.

 

“End it,” Rowena says. And that’s that.

 

The girls slowly turn towards each other and brutally beat and stab each other to death. No words can do it justice. The unbridled monstrosity of it. Dean stares wide eyed at them, then at Rowena. Sam stands there, jaw slack. Both men are panting. And Rowena fucking smiles. If that doesn't just showcase her character, I don't know what would.

 

I push myself up until I’m standing, then I limp over to a trunk. Sitting down, I lift my leg up to examine it. I tear my shirt off and rip it into strips. Gritting my teeth, I yank the knife out. Luckily, the way it hit, it’s not horribly deep, but it’ll definitely need stitches. At least it’s a clean cut. I work quickly, tying the circulation off, then binding the wound. Dean walks over.

 

“I told you to stay in the car,” he growls.

 

I shrug, “And I didn’t listen. Guess we were both exercising our free will.”

 

Dean glares at me, “You coulda been killed.”

 

“So could you,” I throw back.

 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “That’s gonna need stitches.”

 

I nod, “I know.”

  
  
I stand up and limp carefully towards Sam and Rowena, brushing past Dean. Rowena is holding the book Dean had this morning, flipping through it lovingly, like an old friend, or long lost lover.

 

“You really thought after all that,” Rowena says, “That I was going to try and kill you.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “You double crossed us.”

 

She looks up at him, “ _Triple_  cross, actually. So I ended up on your side, and we defeated the villains, just as I planned.”

 

“Yeah, not buying that,” Sam says, tearing the book out of Rowena’s firm grip.

 

“And that book?” Dean says from beside me, behind them, “You can either give it to us or we’re taking it. Either way.” He gaze slides past Sam to us.

 

Rowena says something to Sam, to quiet for us to make out, but Sam yanks the book out of her lingering grip. She gives both brothers an over-dramatic forlorn look before storming out of the house. I glance at Dean before landing my gaze on Sam. I can’t ask Dean for his jacket. That would be going into a field of trip mines. And I don’t feel like risking blowing my legs off today. Maybe tomorrow.

 

“Yo, gigantor,” I say, “Gimme your jacket.”

 

“My-my jacket?” Sam asks.

 

I roll my eyes, “I can’t go out there like this, can I?” Gesturing to my shirtless figure.

 

Luckily, I wore a sports bra today and not one of my sexier little numbers. Sam’s face reddens and he passes the book to Dean. He strips off his jacket and tosses it to me. I wrap myself in his huge brown jacket. With a round of sighs, we all limp out of the house. I open the door to the Impala and slide into the back seat, resting my head on it. Sam and Dean follow me into the car.

 

The drive back to the bunker is silent and tired. When we’re back, Sam helps me back inside while Dean deals with the book. Sam leads me into the kitchen, and sits me down at the table. He goes to the fridge and pulls out one of my bottles of wine.

 

“Red, white, or the pink stuff?” he asks.

 

I wince at the throbbing pain in my leg, “Definitely the red.”

 

He pours some into a mug and sets it in front of me. Dean joins us in the kitchen, setting the book in the middle of the table and sitting across from me. Sam goes back over to the fridge and withdraws two beers. He sets them on the counter and twists the caps off.

 

“Ugh, I can’t believe I fell for a love spell,” Dean grouses, “And got clocked by a witch with a hammer.”

 

“And!” Sam points out like he forgot the most important piece, “Zombie mom.” He sets Dean’s beer on the table and walks towards the counter, “Those are the details that sell the story.” I take a sip off my mug.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says, his voice edged in sarcasm, “Yeah, getting beat up by a girl, that’s a story I wanna tell someone.”

 

Sam raises his beer a little, “Girls beat us up all the time. I mean, Elvira kicked your ass the other night.” I can’t help but chuckle. Point made Samuel.

 

“Mm, true,” Dean says, sipping off his beer. We lapse into a bit of an awkward silence. Dean has something to say, and we’ll be silent until he says it. It’s only a few seconds. “Hey, you know Rowena is not our friend, right?” Whoop. There it is.

 

Sam sits back on the counter more, “Yeah, I know that.”

 

Dean purses his lips, leans forward, and pulls the book towards him a bit before throwing it open to a page that’s been torn out, “Then what’s that?” Yike. Sam looks like a kid who got caught with his foot in the cookie jar. “You gave her the page. She got in your head, man.”

 

“She didn’t get in my head,” Sam immediately counters.

 

“Look, what happened to Rowena is messed up, okay,” Dean says, his voice rough, but kinda trying to reason, “But you just let the deadliest witch in the world walk away with a page from this book.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, standing up off the counter, emphasizing with is hands, “And if Rowena breaks bad, I will hunt her down myself and put a bullet in her. I will, Dean.” The older brother looks away exasperatedly. “But if she’s right, and if she does see Lucifer again … I hope he makes him suffer.”

 

“You gotta get out of this dark place,” Dean says abruptly, “Ya know, whatever’s goin’ on in your head.”

 

“Dean,” Sam says, tired, “You know what? Honestly?”

 

“Yeah, how ‘bout honestly.”

 

“Honestly, I know what Rowena is dealing with,” Sam take a deep breath in and sighs, “And she’s not the only one that feels … helpless.” Sam glances at me. He knows more than Dean does about my emotions towards my father and all of that, not much, but some.

 

“What do you mean?” Dean asks gently, genuinely trying to understand.

 

“I mean, I had a plan, you know, ah,” Sam says, “I, uh. Help Jack. Bring Mom back. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It – it kept me from spinning off the rails. A-And now … Jack is gone. Mom is still in hell, basically. And I-I-I just …” Sam trails off and I can tell he’s trying so hard not to cry. I throw back the rest of my mug of wine in like one second. It’s gonna be a long night.

 

Dean looks down, and then back up, and he says, “We’ll figure it out.”

 

“Dean, we don’t have a plan. We don’t know what to do,” he says, “S-So how!?”

 

“I don’t know,” Dean replies. Well, at least he’s honest. Sam looks away, his eyes watering. Dean continues though, looking at Sam earnestly, “But we will, you and me. And our tagalong.” Anyone can see that Sam is pissed. The poor boy is breaking. They both are. But Sam is worse for wear. He needs something solid, but there is nothing to grab onto. He nods.

 

“Yeah, night,” he mutters. And then he takes off.

 

Dean sets his beer down on the table, “I guess it’s just you and me tonight Princess.”

 

I smile wryly, “You, me, Jack, and a needle and thread.”

 

Dean lets a little air out of his nose, “Right, your leg. Let’s go take care of that.”

 


	22. Things Go Really Well For, Like, Two Chapters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright kiddos, here's a good chapter. A chapter some of ya'll have probably been waiting for. Have a slice of pizza, or better yet,   
>  the whole godamn pie. Haha, well, here's some smut. Because I'm a filthy whore. Comments, kudos, etc... are all SUPER DUPER appreciated my precious little beans. So ... like ... do that. XO your friendly neighborhood ghost.

**Chapter 22: Things Go Really Well For, Like, Two Chapters**

 

I’m sitting sprawled out in the bathtub in nothing but a t-shirt and panties, my wounded leg draped over the side atop a black fuzzy towel. Dean is kneeling outside the tub with a needle braced between his teeth as he inspects the wound. I take another sip off the bottle of whisky. I’m pleasantly buzzed, but not drunk. I hold the bottle out, my hand gripping its neck. Dean takes it from me, shooting me a look. He pulls the needle from between his teeth.

 

“You ready?” he asks.

 

“Mm, ready as I’ll ever be Pretty Boy,” I say, gripping the side of the tub.

 

He pours a bit of Jack over the wound, effectively disinfecting it. It burns, but it’s not too bad. Then he pulls out some cotton swabs and a metal tube. He squirts some clear jelly onto the cotton swab and dabs it onto the wound and surrounding area. Then he lets it sit for a minute. While we wait, he gets up and brings my bluetooth speaker in. He sets it up on the counter.

 

“Where’s your iPod?” he asks, “You’ll need it.”

 

“Bedroom nightstand,” I reply, “Leave the earbuds there.”

 

He disappears and returns a minute later. I catch my iPod when he hands it to me and turn on the bluetooth. He switches on the speaker and the two devices connect with a beep. My music taste changes on the daily. Right now, all I want to listen to, like on repeat, is _You_ by _Sidi_. Dean crouches down again. Using some cotton balls, he wipes the excess goo off my leg. It must have been a numbing cream because my leg is pleasantly numbed. He looks up.

 

“Ready Princess?” he asks. I lean back in the tub, resting my head on the wall and closing my eyes.

 

I feel his hot hands touch my leg, contrasting sharply to the chill of the porcelain. He braces one hand against my leg to hold it steady. The needle tears into my flesh. I bite my lip to keep from making any noise. I can feel the thread pull through my flesh. It’s so strange that I am the cloth that is being sewn together. Dean was right about the music. It helps me not focus on the pain. _//I don’t wanna wait for you/but you make me wanna stay/I’ve never been so goddamn confused/But I like it in a fucked up way/And I think we’ll find resolve one day/So just tell me what I have to say/And we both know I’m no good for you/And we both know I’m know good for you//._

 

“You could have died,” Dean says, his voice almost drowning in the music.

 

“Yeah,” I say, not even bothering to argue. I’m too tired. And this hurts too much. And I’m really not in the mood for an earful.

 

“Why couldn’t you just stay in the damn car?” he asks, his voice slightly pissed.

 

“Because Dean,” I say, through gritted teeth, “At some point, some point soon, my dad’s gonna show up and he’s gonna take me away. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

 

“You don’t know that,” he argues.

 

A particularly deep needle jab makes me wince, “I do, Dean. And deep down, you know it too. You know he’s coming. And you know there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. You want to save me so bad, but you can’t.” He doesn’t say anything and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. “The best thing you can do is teach me how to save myself because you won’t be able to save me. And waiting in the fucking car isn’t gonna show me shit.”'

 

Dean’s silent for a long while. His steady hands push and pull the needle through the wound in the side of my calf. I mumble along with the music to distract myself. Dean’s fingers slide up my leg a little and contact, despite the pain, makes my insides coil.

 

“Are you scared?” he asks.

 

I laugh bitterly, “There’s no word to describe it Dean. I laugh. I joke. Because I know that what my father is, is ten times what your god is. I know because it’s inside me too and I felt it this morning. For the first time, I felt it. Something boiling beneath my skin, like my father’s spirit woke it up in me. And I can’t control it. And it might burn me up from the inside out. And …” This got way out of hand. I didn’t mean to tell him all that. “Yes, Dean, I’m scared.”

 

“We’ll get through this,” he says, his voice rough.

 

“You can’t save me Dean,” I say with a sigh, “So don’t try. I’d like to keep you six feet over, even if I end up six feet under.”

 

He places a kiss to my knee. It’s gentle and warm and his lips are so soft. I open my eyes. He’s looking at the wound, now cleaned and stitched up. His fingers gently caress the smooth skin around it and his touch, my god, his touch is like electricity. His fingers slide up and up and up my leg. His hand leaves my thigh and instead grasps my arm. He pulls me forward. Hooking my leg over the ledge of the bath tub, I scoot until I’m sitting on it. And Dean is on his knees between my legs. His face at eye level with my clavicle, his hands braces on either side of me. He looks up, our green eyes locking.

 

“Elvira,” his voice is husky, “You should keep off that leg so you don’t bust a stitch.” But he’s not thinking about my wound, and neither am I.

 

I smile, a sad sort of bittersweet smile. In another world, another life, where he was a normal guy and I was a normal girl, we might have fallen in love. But he’s got his demons. And I’ve got mine. And even if we did fall in love, here, in this life, neither of us would ever admit it. And that’s okay. It is what it is. And we are who are. You can’t rewrite lives. His head tilts forward, until his forehead is resting on my clavicle, his nose into the cloth of my shirt, but just between my breasts.

 

“Tell me how to save you,” he says hoarsely.

 

I place a hand on the back of his head and whisper, “You can’t.”

 

He raises himself up and presses a feather-light kiss to my clavicle. Dangerous, this is dangerous. He keeps pressing kisses into my clavicle. He kneels up straighter, his hands pressed into my hips and continues his ascent, kissing his way up my neck until he reaches my jaw. Dangerous. But my body betrays me. My legs wrap around his torso drawing him into me. And, my god, it’s so good. The feeling of him against me. He braces me against him and lifts me up, then eases me down onto his lap so I’m straddling him. His mouth teases my ear, his tongue dancing along the sensitive shell. And when his lips meet mine it’s like fire. My fingers thread into his hair. His hands slip under my shirt, his fingers sliding up the grooves of my back, all the way up until he’s gripping my shoulders from behind.

 

A soft moan escapes my lips. I can feel him hardening against me, the rough fabric of his jeans grinding against my core. I can feel my body responding. He extricates his arms from my shirt before grabbing the hem and yanking it up. I lift my arms so he can get it off. The shirt drops to the ground. Dean leans back and stares at me, his eyes roaming my almost naked body.

 

“If ya want me to stop, ya better stop me right now because once I get started I’m going all the way, Princess,” he says, his hands braced on either side of my ribs, one of them directly over the anti-possession tattoo.

 

I shouldn’t, but I want to. I should walk away because I’m gonna die and Dean’s gonna feel even more like shit the closer we get. I should walk away because we don’t know what I am or what I’m capable. I should walk away because I don’t know what’s inside me. But my body is on fire and he’s goddamn kerosene. And I should walk away for a thousand and one reasons, but his fingers move in small hypnotic circles just above my back hipbone. And his mouth looks so delicious. And I can feel him. There’s a thousand and one reasons to say no, but all I can think is yes. But I can’t make myself say it, because saying it would be admitting it. And I won’t. God save me.

 

“Do I look like I’m asking you to stop?” I shoot back.

 

That’s enough answer for him. He places his hands under my ass cheeks to stabilize me and stands up, holding me. He walks us over to the bathroom counter and sets me down long enough to switch my speaker off, then he picks me up. He’s surprisingly silent as he carries me down the hall and into his room, shutting the door behind him with his foot. It’s pitch black save for a tiny little night light Dean has plugged in.

 

He sets me on his bed. I’m acutely aware of how everything in here smells of him. Dean places a hand on my abdomen and guides me to lay down, my feet dangling over the edge of the bed. He takes my hands and guides them above my head, pinning them there. In the darkness, his mouth finds mine. And our lips move like they were made for each other. He pulls away, dragging his teeth over my bottom lip. He places a kiss in the hollow of my throat, then between my breasts, then on my ribs, then my belly button. He drops to his knees, releasing my hands. One of his hands pins my hips to the bed, the other hooks a finger into my thong and eases them off. He takes my leg and draws me off the bed a bit before tossing my leg over his shoulder. I can feel his hot breath on my nakedness and already I’m on fire for him.

 

He takes his free hand and uses his index finger to part my folds, feeling the wetness at my core he draws his finger upwards to the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs. His finger circles and brushes, but doesn’t quite touch. I let out a breath-y moan. With the first swipe of his tongue, my hands are in his hair. He’s a god. He’s a fucking god. His tongue darts in and out of me, occasionally dipping upwards to tease my clit. The feeling of his stubble grazing against my most sensitive parts is enough to make me melt. And the groans that vibrate along my bones that he lets out every so often. The combination of it all is molten.

 

A whine slips from my lips as he draws his face away, but his lips find that sensitive nub. He sucks very gently, occasionally running his tongue over it. My back arches and my hips would too if it weren’t for his hand. He pulls his face back again. The hand that’s holding my hips down, slides across my stomach and downwards. He runs two of his fingers through my wetness before slowly easing them inside me. I moan as he curls his fingers there, his thumb swiping quickly over my clit. He curls and uncurls his finger, each time swiping his thumb. Each movement sends me higher and higher. And when I’m at the precipice, my hands gripping at the blankets of his bed, he blows hot breath onto my clit and I’m crashing. My whole body vibrating and relaxing all at once.

 

He keeps his fingers pumping as I ride out my orgasm. And when I’ve reached the bottom, he pushes me higher up the bed. I can hear him strip his shirt off, then the jingle of his belt buckle as his pants come off too. When he’s completely naked, I can see the warm sheen of his skin in the night light. He’s kneeling between my spread legs. I prop myself up on one elbow, my other hand presses against his hard chest. Slowly, I slide it downward, feeling every ridge of muscle and puckered scar, until I reach the beginning of the v of his pelvic bone. I sit up more. My hand grips his shaft, and I run my fingers down to the velvety tip. He groans as I slide my hand back and then bring it down again.

 

He reaches and grabs my hand, guiding me back to laying down. First, he grabs a pillow, and pushes it under my hips, raising them. Then one of his hands grabs the edge of my sports bra and pulls it up and over my head. First, his mouth finds mine again in the darkness, his bare chest brushing the peaks of breasts. Then he leans down and takes my nipple into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth, and sucking. But I don’t want that. I want him inside me. Now.

 

“Dean,” I whisper, my voice full of raw lust. “Please.”

 

He does what I want and lets go of my nipple. He rubs his shaft over my folds in my slickness and groans, sliding up to rub the tip of his cock over my clit. I need him to stop playing. I need this. I hook my good leg around his thighs, encouraging him onwards. He pushes in slowly, agonizingly slowly, just the tip, before pulling out.

 

“Dean,” I whine.

 

He chuckles darkly, his voice husky with desire. Then he pushes into me again, still slowly, but he slides in and in and in until he’s fully sheathed in me. We both let out animalist noises. My god. I feel like I’ve been missing a piece I didn’t know was gone until now. Everything, every single thing about this feels right. And when he moves, oh my god. It sends shockwaves though my body. He pulls in and out at a steady rhythm, each time caressing that sweet spot inside me that makes my body hum. One of his hands dips between us and his fingers circle and graze over my clit.

 

“You feel so fucking good,” he grinds out, his voice dark and raw.

 

And I can’t help but softly moan his name.

 

He picks up the pace slowly. Somehow I feel like I’m falling apart and piecing myself back together at the same time. I’m five miles high. Our breathing is ragged, and intertwined. His pace becomes almost frantic. And I swear to god he knows even without me saying anything that I’m teetering the line. I’m ready to spiral down again. His thumbs skate in figure eights over my clit. But it’s when he groans my name that undoes me.

 

“Elvira,” the three syllables rolling off his tongue like they might save his soul.

 

I shatter around him as he pumps frantically in and out of me. With a loud groan, he pulls out and cums across my stomach. For a long moment, we stay there, our breathing slowing out. I can feel the bed shift as he slides off it. He rifles around in the dark, until the bed dips as he climbs back on it. He must have gotten a shirt because he wipes the sticky cum off my abdomen. I hear the shirt hit the floor when he tosses it. He yanks the pillow out from under my hips and tosses it back to the head of the bed.

 

“Elvira?” his voice cuts through the silence.

 

I hum in reply.

 

“You good?”

 

I hum again, “I’m good. Just not fully sure I can move.” Shouldn’t have said that, but it’s too late. Plus, it’s really gonna give him a complex.

 

He chuckles, “I know. I’m a god.”

 

I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see it, “Let’s not get too big for our britches here.” Even though I thought that exact same thing. But he doesn’t need to know that. Like ever. He scoots up to the top of the bed. I lay where I am, not trusting my legs to carry me out of here. All of a sudden, Dean’s arm wraps around me and he pulls me up to where he is. He places a gentle kiss on my neck, pushing his nose into the crock between my jaw and neck. My body curves into his perfectly.

 

“Elvira,” he whispers.

 

“Yeah?” my voice cracks.

 

“We should do that again some time,” he says, “You know, if you can handle it.”

 

I don’t know how to respond to that. I don’t know what I’m even doing here. I’m starting to feel weirdly uncomfortable. I think it’s the cuddling. Cuddling is for couples. We’re not that. Not even close. Dean’s not relationship material and I’m not either. But he’s clearly enjoying himself right now, his fingers rubbing gentle circles over my abdomen, his other hand loosely holding one of my breasts. It’s not that I don’t want to stay, but I know he only wants me here because he’s lonely. And you always feel a little less lonely when someone is warming your bed. Hell, I’m lonely. I’ve been so alone the last few months. And I want to stay just for the warmth of it, and not having to sleep through the night alone, and having someone to be there in case I wake up with a nightmare on my mind. But I can’t do that to either of us. So I slow my breathing, and I wait for Dean’s breathing to match mine and his hands to still, before I slide out of his grip.

 

I feel around in the darkness for my panties and bra. It takes me a few minutes, but I find them and slip them both on. I open the door to his room, creep out, and shut it silently behind me. I creep down the hall, switching the bathroom light off, gathering my Bluetooth speaker and iPod, before beelining it back to my room.

 

Once I’m there, I shut my door. Once again surrounded by darkness, I feel my over to my bed. Maybe he’ll think it was all a dream in the morning. I crawl into bed, tucking myself under the covers. I did the right thing. At least that’s what I tell myself. But I can’t help but notice just how much colder my bed is. I bury myself in the blankets, and I hope to god we can be normal about this in the morning. I think I may have fucked up.

 


	23. Things Are Still Kinda Sorta Going Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm still here. Still S L A V I N G away. SOrry, we just moved and wifi doesn't get set up for a couple more days and I've been going through a fuck ton. All this drama about some twat I work with spreading rumours about me and the guy I was seeing (he knows her family, he said she was cool, so I mentioned we were dating and asked her not to tell anyone, lo and behold she blabbed to everyone). SO now we aren't seeing each other and he thinks I just gossip about him behind his back. ANyways, ENJOY

**Chapter 23: Things Are Still Kinda Sorta Going Well**

 

When I wake up in the morning, my room is still dark. I roll over to look at the clock. Ten am. Jesus. I really slept in. Oops. I stretch and roll out of bed. Stumbling over to the light switch, I flip it on. I find a t-shirt in a rumpled pile of clothes and a pair of pajama shorts, both of which I pull on. If it wasn’t for the comfortable soreness between my legs, I would think that last night was just this really fucking good wet dream sent by whoever rules lust to screw with me.

 

I open my door and limp down the hall towards the kitchen. When I get close, I can hear someone clattering around in there. Please let it be Sam. Please let it be Sam. I round the corner to find Dean stirring scrambled eggs with a wooden spoon. I almost let out a frustrated sigh though my nose. Seriously? It couldn’t be Sam? Or even both of them? On second thought, maybe it’s better that it’s just Dean and I for now. That way we can stuff any residual awkward tension under our already stuffed rug.

 

“Morning Princess,” his voice is cheerful, but there’s also a note of … caution in it. Like he might spook me.

 

“Morning Pretty Boy,” I shoot back. _Act natural. Act natural._ But I think we all know that when you tell yourself to act natural, you ain’t gonna act natural.

 

“Ya want some eggs and sausage?” he asks, clearing his throat.

 

Man. I was right. Awkward. This is awkward. “Sure.”

 

He nods once. Oh lovely. He wants to say something. The only time Dean’s ever quiet like this is if he’s got something touch-y he wants to bring up. So I get myself a glass of water and sit at the picnic table. I watch him pull the eggs from heat and divide them three ways. He pulls a pan of sausages out of the oven and divides those too. I sip from my water, trying to get my shit together. And I’m waiting for him to go all romantic comedy on me. I look back at my water.

 

“Where’d you disappear to last night?” Dean asks finally, his voice deceptively light.

 

I shrug, “Back to my room.”

 

“Did you … was it not … good for you?” he asks.

 

Oh for the love of god. Take me O Death and spare me from this stupid stupid life. I can’t deal with this. But I have to because I made this goddamn mess myself. Stepped in horseshit, gotta scrape it off my shoe. I sigh. Unfortunately, this isn’t some one night stand that I can hit and quit. We might have to actually converse about this. Just the thought makes me wanna take a swan dive of a bridge.

 

“It was amazing, Dean,” I say quietly. That’s as much as he’s getting out of me as far as that goes.

 

He waits a heartbeat, “Do you regret … doing that … with me?” Translation: Is there someone else you would rather have been screwing?

 

“I don’t regret it per se,” I say. And that’s the truth.

 

“Per se?” he looks up at me.

 

“I just … everything is really complicated,” I say, “And I’m probably on Death’s hit list. And a monster. And you’re dealing with your mom and Jack. And I can’t help but think that maybe this wasn’t the right time. Especially with your brother teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown. We should be focusing on the _many_ tasks at hand.”

 

He carries my plate over to me, setting it down, before taking a seat across from me with his own place.

 

“Would there ever have been a right time to do that between us?” he asks, looking me in the eyes. I don’t reply because it’s a yes and a no. And he knows it. “Look, Elvira, it happened. We can’t take it back. And, honestly, I don’t really want to. Because it was fucking awesome. That was the best damn sex I ever had. And I kinda really want to do it again. Hell, I wanted to bend you over the counter the second you walked in here.” Despite myself, heat pools at my core when he says that. I cross my legs to distract myself. “It’s not a circus ride. I mean, you’re the one who said all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Eh?” Dick. Using my own words against me. The worst part is that he’s right. But also, I want him to be right. “So let’s just have fun. I mean, if you’re booked for a one way trip to Death’s door, you at least deserve to let loose along the way.”

 

I roll my eyes, “I hate it when you actually talk sense.”

 

He grins, “Eh, you like it.”

 

“Shut up,” I say before digging into my food. Dean really is a good cook. He playfully kicks me under the table. “Oi, where’s your brother?”

 

Dean smirks, “Sent ‘im out to get some supplies.”

 

I narrow my eyes at him, “You cornered me.”

 

He shrugs, still smiling, “Desperate times and all that, Princess.”

 

I sigh through my nose. What a dick. I can hear the door to the bunker open and close. Sam appears a minute later carrying two overfilled paper sacks. He looks between Dean and I, chumming it up. He shoots me a look before dropping the bags on the counter. His eyes are so tired. My heart breaks for him. I want to help him, but I know there’s nothing I could say or do that could give him hope. I scarf down the rest of my food as Sam put the groceries away. I finish my food and take my plate to the sink.

 

“Need some help, Sam?” I ask after rinsing my plate.

 

“Uh-uh, Princess,” I can feel Dean come up behind me, “You need to rest your leg. I don’t want you busting a stitch.”

 

“Dean, I hardly think limping around the kitchen is gonna bust a stitch,” I counter, “I’m not running for my life. Now … Sam … need any help?”

 

He gives Dean a small shrug and smile before handing me some bread and eggs. I put them away, bread in the bread drawer, eggs in the fridge. Sam keeps handing me things until the grocery bags are emptied. He pats my shoulder affectionately.

 

“Thanks El,” he says.

 

“No prob, Sam,” I say, glaring at Dean who just raises his hands in the I give up gesture, “I’m gonna watch Netflix and hit the books. Anyone care to join me?”

 

Sam shrugs, “I’m game. What’re we looking for in the books exactly?”

 

“Anything about alternate universes,” I say, “I’m looking for dirt on Calenmai. Maybe we’ll find something that could help your mom too.”

 

I head into the library, grabbing _Jour et Nuit_. Every time I try to read this damn book, I get sidetracked. Maybe that’s the ultimate sign I should read it. The fact that I keep getting interrupted. Everybody knows if the universe doesn’t want you to do something, you should probably do it. Because, you know, ninety-nine point nine nine nine nine nine nine percent of the time, the universe is wrong.

 

It’s days like this that I know I’m at home. We pile in on a couch sharing a huge blanket. We bicker over what movie to watch. Eventually, ignoring Dean’s protests, I put on Lord of The Rings. Sam sits to my left, exuding smugness that I sided with him on the movie choice.

 

“Sorry Dean,” I say, “I can’t do old westerns. I just can’t take ‘em seriously.”

 

He rolls his eyes, “But you can take an old gay wizard leading around a troup of midgets to destroy an evil ring, seriously?”

 

I smile, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I can.”

 

“Whatever, Princess,” he says, “Let’s just be honest here and say your taste in movies sucks.”

 

I jab him in the ribs with my elbow, “Yeah, says the person whose favorite movie is probably a porno.”

 

He holds his hand to his chest, “Ouch, you wound me.”

 

“Would you guys shut up?” Sam cuts in playfully, “The movie’s starting and I can’t hear over you two.”

 

“Yeah Dean,” I whisper smacking him on the chest.

 

Dean looks between Sam and I, “Sam! Can you believe her?”

 

“Yeah, she’s usually right,” Sam says, smirking. His voice and his eyes are still tired, but there’s a dim light in them for the time being.

 

“Way to gang up on me,” Dean grouses, settling into the couch more.

  
I have a family. I have a lot of my memories back. There are still gaping holes, but I know enough about myself to know that even when my parents were alive, it never felt like this. Not once. I know because I would die a thousand times to protect these two. It sounds stupid and corny and like an over dramatic TV show, but I would. I lean against Dean and throw my legs over Sam’s lap. The guys exchange looks, but neither of them complain. We watch the movie and I read this book, but there’s absolutely nothing useful. Frustrated, I give up, setting it on the floor, giving my attention to the film.

 

I’m comfortable and toasty, sharing body heat with these two giants. My eyes start to droop and I just sorta give up on staying awake. I let my eyes close, waiting to doze off. I learn two things while I’m waiting. One, these brothers gossip like a couple of old ladies with nothing better to do when they think no one’s listening. Two, pretending to be asleep is a good way to find stuff out.

 

“You know Sammy,” Dean says, “She thinks we can’t save her.” Oh Dean, you poor sweet boy. I don’t think. I know. And, as Sam knows, I’m usually right.

 

“Why do you say that?” Sam asks sharply.

 

“She said so,” Dean says simply. I force my breathing to stay even.

 

“She told you that?” Sam asks.

 

“Word for word,” Dean says.

 

“Huh,” Sam says, his tone surprised, “I’m surprised she admitted that to you.”

 

“She does tell me things sometimes,” Dean says.

 

“Well, I’m surprised she admitted that at all,” Sam says, “Even more surprised that she told you that and not me.”

 

“Maybe she thought I would handle it better,” Dean points out.

 

Sam snorts, “Fair enough. I mean, you can barely stand her.”

 

“Who says that?” Dean asks, his voice very very defensive.

 

“Uh, Dean, just look at the way, you treat her,” Sam says in a duh voice, “You always make her wait in the car. You’re always bitching at her about something. Like the leg thing earlier. She wasn’t gonna bust a stitch helping me out. But you just needed to find something to chew her out for, didn’t you? And when she doesn’t do what you want, you sulk like a little kid.”

 

“I was just … I’m just trying to protect her,” Dean says, his voice dropping, “You’re wrong … I do care … about her. She’s family now. But most of our family ends up six feet under. And she’s … fragile. What with the memories thing. And Asmodeus. And her big bad Daddy who wants her to destroy everything.”

 

Okay. Whoa whoa whoa. I am not fragile. A little unhinged maybe, but not _fragile_.

 

“Really Dean?” Sam’s voice is cutting. And fair enough too. He doesn’t know what I know. Well, and he doesn’t know that Dean and I fucked. Which is a good thing. Probably. “She’s not fragile. You know, considering? I think she’s handling everything just fine.”

 

Thank you, Sam.

 

“Well then, since you seem to know everything Sam. And you’re her favorite,” Dean’s voice is bitter and angry, “How bout you give me some instructions on what to do. Gimme your handbook, since you seem to have it all under control.” Uh, yikes, this is about to get ugly. So I shift in my (fake) sleep, laying down completely in Dean’s lap. Immediately, both brothers fall silent. Dean’s fingers thread slightly through my hair and I snuggle in a little more. Don’t judge me. It feels good. “Sammy … I care about her. Just half the time I don’t know what to do with her.”

 

It’s silent for a heartbeat before Sam goes, “Oh my god. You have feelings for her.”

 

Oh. Oh, dear. I don’t wanna hear this part. Nope. Can I go to sleep now? Right this second?

 

“What?” Dean’s voice is indignant, “No. Shut up.”

 

“Hey, I’m not saying you’re in love with her,” I can almost hear the defensiveness in Sam’s voice, “But you definitely have feelings for her.”

 

“Can you shut up about it already?” Dean growls, “She might wake up.”

 

I can feel Sam shift under my legs a little, “Oh, wow, wooow. And you’re scared.”

 

“Scared!” Dean scoffs, “Scared of what?”

 

“Scared that she won’t feel the same way,” Sam pushes, and I can definitely hear the smirk in his voice.

 

“Please,” Dean huffs.

 

“Whatever, Dean,” Sam says, “Don’t admit it to yourself.” The brothers are silent for a good five minutes before Sam says, “Dude, you do know she’s miles outta your league, right? Like – like a whole ‘nother stratosphere.”

 

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean grouses.

 

The boys fall silent again. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? I’ve got one word to describe today. Regrets. Or you know, to put the cherry on top regerts. Hey, I should get a tattoo of that. Just as a reminder of what not to do. It might have been a pleasant evening had shit not gotten very real.

 

 


	24. And They Begin to Deteriorate Very Rapidly Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins the real drama. As soon as I started these next few chapters, I knew that the whole story was pretty much a set up for this. When I started this story, I really had no plans for ELvira as a character, but somehow she took on a life of her own as some characters are prone to do. Honestly, her story didn't really unfold all the way to me until like chapter fifteen. Until then it was just a bunch of question marks and her being along for the ride with our favorite Hunters. But now she has her own story. Kinda funny how that happens. Anyways, lots of love. XO Ghost

**Chapter 24: And They Begin to Deteriorate Very Rapidly Again**

 

I’m sitting naked on Dean’s bed, slipping his shirt over my head. I should sneak back to my room before Sam wakes up. Most days for the last week have started like that. Me sneaking out of his room at like five am so I’m gone before Sam is up and about. He rolls out of bed walking totally naked across the room and wow … like that my body is already ready. My vagina really does rule me. Dean knows I’m looking at him, watching him. He also knows I’m fucking horny as hell, like teenage boy.

 

“Like what you see, Princess?”

 

“Get over here,” I growl.

 

He strides over to me, carrying himself across the room in about point three seconds flat. I stand up, wrapping my arms around his neck and clashing my lips with his. Sometimes I like it slow, but now is not one of those times. Especially once I feel his cock harden. Dean responds with just as much heat and passion his hands sliding down to my ass, squeezing firmly. I pull my mouth from his, nibbling my way down his neck. I grab him, and flip us around so his back is to the bed, then I shove him backwards.

 

He hits the bed, letting out an oof. I smile tauntingly at him. I place my hands on the edge of the bed and crawl towards him until my slickness is rubbing over his hard length. He groans at the contact. I take his hands and place them on my breasts, through his t-shirt. His thumbs slide over my perky nipples. I lean down, placing my lips at the shell of his ear.

 

“Tell me what you want,” I whisper, running my tongue down to his ear lobe before nibbling gently.

 

“Elvira, just fucking ride me,” he growls.

 

I slide onto him in one motion. We both groan quietly, trying not to make too much noise. Riding him like this hits everything all at once. His hand goes to my clitoris, his fingers playing in a way that makes my knees quake. I throw my head back, bouncing on his cock. His eyes are locked onto my breasts, watching them.

 

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Dean growls.

 

“I know,” I shoot back, taking my hands and running them up his torso and coming off him almost completely before slamming back down. He groans.

 

“Do that again,” he growls, gripping my hips. And so I repeat it, and he brings his hips up to meet mine this time. I moan a little louder than I meant to. I do that over and over until I’m on the brink, ready to take the plunge. My fingers dig into Dean’s rock hard torso and when I orgasm, tightening around him. I pull off him and wrap my hand around his cock. It takes two three pumps before he spills himself all over my hand. The knock on the door makes us both jump.

 

“Dean … can you, uh, turn the porno down?” Sam’s voice comes through the door.

 

Dean and I exchange glances before Dean lets out an awkward raspy chuckle, “Sorry, Sammy, guess I got carried away.”

 

“Gr-gross, Dean,” Sam says back, “Hey, uh, h-have you seen Elvira? She’s not in her room.” I almost choke.

 

“Last time, I saw her she was in the, uh, library,” Dean calls back, making his fair enough face. I hold my hands up in the why gesture and he shrugs. I roll my eyes.

 

“Alright, thanks, I’ll let you get back to, uh, what you were, uh … doing,” Sam says sounding deeply uncomfortable.

 

I listen until his footsteps have faded out, then I scramble to my feet. Dean tosses me my bra and panties. I slip both on and pull on my pajama shorts. I open the door to his room, and peek out. Sam is nowhere to be seen. I creep out of the room, shutting the door silently behind me, and walk down the hall. The whole time I feel like I’m about to catch on fire. Penance for my sins. I walk into the library to find Sam chatting with a pretty boy accountant in a trench coat.

 

“Morning Samuel,” I say.

 

Sam turns around, “Elvira, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

 

I shrug, “We must have missed each other.” Liar. Liar. Liar.

 

Sam steps to the side, revealing the pretty accountant more to me, “Elvira, this is our friend, Castiel. He’s an angel and he might be able to help you.”

 

But he’s looking at me like he’s seeing a ghost, his voice is low and gravelly, “You …” Okay. Weird. “You should not be here.” Okay. Weird. Times five. But also like … what the hell. Does this supposedly angelic tax accountant know me?

 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice sounds from behind me.

 

Dean passes me and goes to give the angel a hug. But the angel doesn’t move, like at all, he stands there staring at me, his arms tight to his sides. Box of rocks that he can be, it takes Dean a minute to realize that something’s up. He releases Castiel and looks between the two of us, his brows knit together. I stare back at Castiel, not knowing what else to do. This isn’t good.

 

“Sam … Dean … where did you find this thing?” Castiel asks, looking each of the boys in the eye in turn.

 

 _Well, that’s just plain mean_. “Excuse me?” I cut in.

 

“Cas, what’s up?” Dean asks.

 

The angel approaches me, looking me dead in the eye. Our faces are barely a foot apart, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny. I fight the urge to backflip away from him. Especially because I don’t know if I can backflip. That’d be awesome. I could backflip my way out of any and all uncomfortable situations. Like this one. Though this would be a good way to get some answers. And probably also a good way to fuckin die. So, mmm, no thanks.

 

“How are you alive?” he asks.

 

“What do you mean?” I breathe.

 

Dean positions himself between the angel and I, “Alright Cas, start talking.”

 

“You don’t understand Dean,” Castiel says, still staring at me, “She should not be here.”

 

“Why the hell not?” Deans asks.

 

Castiel looks Dean in the eyes, “Because she’s destined to destroy the earth.” Wow. A plus plus for drama. Seriously. Leo DiCaprio would have been put to shame. Oscar worthy.

 

Dean glances at me, “Explain. Now. Cas.”

 

“Her conception shook the foundations of heaven and the gates of hell, Dean,” Castiel says, looking back at me, “All we could hear over what you call angel radio for days was the destroyer is brought to fruition. When we found her, it wasn’t until she was months grown. Five angels were sent to walk the earth and smite her and her parents. And so they did. To stop what she would become. So, excuse me, if I am surprised to see her here and in the company of the Winchesters no less.”

 

My parents. Me. Dead from a Carbon Monoxide leak. Or not a leak at all, so it would seem.

 

“Well, this isn’t exactly the same girl,” Dean says.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel says, “She is an abomination and she must be destroyed.”

 

He takes a step towards me and Dean shoves himself between us further, “Whoah, whoah, whoah, Cas. Let’s talk about this.”

 

“There is nothing to talk about, Dean,” the angel narrows his eyes at Dean, “She must die.” He tries to brush past Dean, but the Winchester holds steady. Still, I can’t help but stumble back a step.

 

“Ain’t nobody killing nobody,” Dean growls, “So you better relax Cas, before I have to take you outside to cool off.”

 

Castiel gives Dean a hard look, “Do you not understand Dean? She will destroy this earth. Not just killing humanity, but imploding the very planet. All the times you have saved the world, she will be the ruin of it. She is the very core of everything you seek to end.”

 

My voice is dry, but I say it all the same, “What am I?”

 

“You are what should never have been,” Castiel says.

 

“What am I?” my voice is a whisper.

 

“You are the child of a Precursor and a human,” Castiel says, “You should not exist.”

 

“What’s a Precursor?” I demand, my voice clearing out a little.

 

He looks at me, his eyes narrowing slightly, “You know nothing of your heritage?”

 

“I barely know who I am,” I say, quietly.

 

“Long before anything was created, long before our God and Our Death,” he says, “they were there, swimming in the void. I do not know how many, perhaps three, perhaps five, perhaps ten. From them, the first world was born, the first earth. The earth from which each and every alternate reality is born. Sometimes, it is called Earth Prime or the Earth of Life. They created the humanity that dwells there and gifted them with creativity. An idea, a thought, can spawn a world, if someone has enough of the power. It is said that when they created Earth Prime, it was forbidden to fornicate with their creations, lest a child be born. It seems as if her father broke the laws.”

 

“I’m guessing we’re not Earth Prime,” Dean grouses.

 

Castiel shakes his head, “No, we are not.”

 

“Well, what Earth is she from?” Dean demands.

 

Castiel looks at me again, his blue eyes stone cold and vicious, “I do not know. All that I have told you is mere legend to us, told as a “bedtime story” by our father. A warning not to try and leave the lines of our universe.”

 

“What – what – happens if you do?” Sam asks.

 

Castiel’s eyes don’t leave mine, “The Precursors do not interfere with the different Earths, but if one was to slip into the Between, they are, as you would call it, fair game.”

 

Sam goes to bathroom. And Dean goes to get some beers. He tries to get me to come with him, but I insist on waiting here with Castiel. I’m gonna get my fucking answers.

 

“My father … his name,” the interest in Castiel’s eyes is unmistakable, “He is Calenmai. Do you know anything about him?”

 

“No,” the angel responds.

 

But you know what? He’s lying. He’s lying through his perfect straight white teeth. I saw that, Castiel. The glance at Dean. The slight widen of his eyes when I spoke my father’s name. He knows something. But he’s not saying a damn word because of the Winchesters. I narrow my eyes at him. Fucking liar. I decide not to call him out though, not here, not yet. I’ll get him alone. And I will wring it out of his lying little tongue.

 

“Well, thanks Cas,” Dean growls, “Real fucking helpful.”

 

Yeah, Cas, real fucking helpful. I smirk at the angel. And I know he knows I know. I know he knows because of the little flicker of fear in his eyes. That’s right you winged dick, be scared. I can feel that power I felt once, roiling beneath my skin and tingling at my fingertips. My stomach drops and I step back from the angel. I may not like him, but using that power, I have no idea what would happen. And I don’t not like him that much. And I definitely wouldn’t want to risk hurting my boys.

 

“How about we all calm down,” Dean says, glancing at me. And I wonder if he felt it, the static of that power running over his skin. What the fuck am I? But I can’t help that I keep my eyes narrowed at this lying asshole of an angel.

 

“Elvira,” Dean says quietly.

 

“What?” I snap.

 

“Come on,” Dean says, grabbing my arm and dragging me in the opposite direction of the angel, “You and I are going for a walk.”

 

I allow him to drag me out of the room, out of the bunker until we’re walking down a path. The grass grows high and golden, the path cutting sharply through it. We keep walking along it, getting further and further away from the bunker. I can still feel the power roiling under my skin, pushing against it, purring, demanding attention, use. It vibrates along my bones and I don’t know how to turn it off. Where the fuck is the off switch?

 

“Elvira,” Dean says softly.

 

I stop walking. I barely recognize my voice as it comes out in a hoarse whisper, “What?”

 

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, “I ain’t gonna let anyone hurt you.”

 

That easily, the thing inside me is soothed. It seems to relax back into me. I look at him. His eyes are so green in the midday light. Mine probably are too. Two sides of the same coin. Out of place. I’m out of place. His hands come to rest on my hips and I let him touch me. I step into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in the crook of his shoulder. I let him comfort me, if not for my sake, then for his. He needs to believe he can save me, even if he can’t. And deep down, I know he can’t. I’m on my own here. This is so far out of their realm. But I let him rub small circles into the muscle of my back and I let him breathe into my hair. I let him have hope.

 

“Ready to go back?” Dean whispers after awhile.

 

I nod, but don’t say anything, not trusting my own voice. He releases me, but takes my hand. Together, we walk back to the bunker. When we go inside, Sam and Castiel are in the library talking. I think they’re covering where Castiel’s been. I stop and turn to Dean.

 

“I’m going to my room,” I say, my voice exhausted, “Me being in there is only going to upset the Douchebag of the Lord.”

 

Dean snorts, before glancing both ways, then pressing a kiss to my forehead, “I’ll come in and check on ya when we’re through.”

 

I just nod, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go and walking away. I make it back to my room and collapse on the bed.

 

Suddenly, I’m tired, so tired, and drained. My eyelids feel weighted down, and I can feel them drift closed. I slip and I slip and I slip. I know I’m not awake, but I know I’m not asleep. Everything around me is dark, blacker than black. And I hear a dripping sound, getting closer and closer and closer. Something pulses against my skin like a thunderous heartbeat. Something compels me to turn around, so I do. There he is.

 

He’s tall and leanly muscled. His features are devastatingly beautiful, lost somewhere between young and old. His eyes are ceaseless cerulean. His hair, pure smooth silver, is cut short on the sides and is swept back on top. His skin, pale like mine, has an ethereal glow, like there are stars orbiting in his aura. I know him, not in the way that I’m familiar with him, but my soul knows him. My father. I feel something inside me open and collapse all at once.

 

“ _Amiya_ ,” he says, his voice old and new and deep and rolling and clear and husky, everything all at once.

 

“My name isn’t _Amiya_ ,” I respond, my own voice ringing with otherworldliness.

 

“What would you prefer? _Elenya, Avlau, Calenmeya_ …” his voice echoes in my soul. Somehow I know what all those mean. _Rose of Decay, Ichor Drainer, Daughter of Chaos_. “You are one of us, you can have many names if you wish.”

 

“My name is Elvira,” I say with quiet venom.

 

He bows his head, “You would wear your human name like you wear your human skin?”

 

The thing in my veins seizes up around me, waking at his words. I feel like my _human skin_ is nothing more than a sheet of paper. That at any moment what I really am will come bursting through. I force the panic down. I stare into his eyes, eyes that would drive most humans to madness, I realize. Eyes that speak of life, death, rebirth, decay, and the vastness of an unknown universe. He blinks at me.

 

“How are you here?” I disregard his question.

 

“Where is here?” he asks.

 

I won’t tell him anything, not one thing that could help him find me, so I say, “With me.”

 

“We are connected. You are my daughter. Our souls smolder with the same bright fire of eternal discord,” he says, “But I cannot find you. I have searched high and low, visiting all manner of Earths. Every Earth is different, I have been searching for so long. There are so many. Humans widespread across the infinite galaxy. Where are you, daughter?”

 

“I am Nowhere,” I whisper, “I have no home. I am between.”

 

The words are not my own. I have no idea where they came from. His head cocks to the side and he looks at me, his eyes scanning me. I’d like to wake up now. We could have been standing here for seconds, or hours, or days. Time has no meaning. Time doesn’t even exist. Perhaps, the laws of time obey him. I am suspended in a drop of rain midair, falling. I am nothing. I am everything.

 

“Where are you?” he says softly, stepping towards me. My feet step backwards. Every step echoes in this place like drops of water, infinitely into the nothingness.

 

“Do not seek me further,” I say with equal quiet.

 

His eyes flash, bolts of silver lightning striking through the everlasting blue, “I will find you.”

 

My body reacts even as he moves. Everything is in slow motion. His hands reach for me, but it seizes me, this thing in my veins. It ignites in the pits of my soul and spreads through me like a wildfire. His hands clasp my face, my eyes close, and suddenly I can see the endless vastness of everything. And I understand everything. A blast of raw power explodes from me, I am nothing but a conduit for this force of reckoning. His face morphs, wiped like wet paint smeared on a canvas until I know nothing and nothing knows me. Steps. I take steps and I can feel the veils of universes sliding past me, each whispering it’s stories into my ear, begging me to take shelter, but I don’t stop, I can’t stop.

 

 _This, this is what I am_. Chaos incarnate. Pure destructive force. I am infinite as the galaxy. People, places, moments, spin like a cyclone around me. My father is gone, banished for the time being. A word, a word forms on my tongue. Elenya. I am the Rose of Decay. Gone. Banished. The power in my veins surges and surges, a vast well, never before tapped but always aching for release. And now I am a fountain. I fling my arms out, letting it pour out of me, better here than a home. It seems to stretch on for ages. I can feel myself wearing thin, the fragile contains of my human body weakening. I could be anything, do anything. But all I want to do is go home.

 

Home. Such a loaded word. I was born on Earth Prime, I know that now. Any other Earth and I wouldn’t have a fraction of the power I do. Home. Where is home? Home is gunpowder and laughs and light and warmth and gentle caresses. Home is two boys always giving, everything, to save their people time and time again. Home is the Winchesters.

 

I step and step and step, past world after world. Some are close, almost the right ones. I can even feel Sam and Dean in some of them, but not the right Sam and Dean. Not the Primes. The first Sam and Deans ever created. And then I feel it, the pull in my gut. Another step, a leap. And then I’m there. I can practically taste them. I step through the veil into their world. And I’m falling, like a shooting star. And crashing through trees and into the earth. I land on my feet. The sun practically blinds me, glaring down at me from between the braches of the trees.  
My bones ache, like a vast weight is pressed against my shoulders. A crack, so loud it vibrates my whole body. My power crackles in my veins even as I collapse to my knees. I stay there like that, the embers of my power flickering as it drifts back to sleep. My hands press into the dirt, the sharp cut of rocks into my palm, providing some sense of reality. I’m shaking. It’s cold.

 

_What the fuck just happened?_

 

And I know from this moment forward, nothing will ever be the same. I will never be the same.

 


	25. In Which Our Heroine Begins To Question Her Morality … Briefly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooooo lovelies, here's a new slice of cake for all y'all. And a big ole shoutout to the people who've stuck with me through this mess of a story, even when I didn't post for weeks on end! Love you guys! And I love hearing from you!

**Chapter 25: In Which Our Heroine Begins To Question Her Morality … Briefly**

 

I can’t move for a very long time. In fact, the sun has time to long set. I try to move every so often, but it only results in pathetic moaning, dizziness, nausea, and extreme headaches. They should put a warning label on this shit. Warning: Interdimensional Travel may cause dizziness, nausea, headaches, migraines, muscle fatigue. In extreme circumstances, possibly even death. Please contact your doctor immediately if you begin experiencing any of these symptoms. Talk to your doctor and see if Interdimensional Travel may be right for you.

  
Fuck me, I’m hilarious.

  
When I finally stand up, my legs are surprisingly supportive (thanks legs, for doing your fucking job), I survey the damage. I’m in the middle of a forest, in a crater several yards wide and a couple yards deep. Fantastic. How the fuck am I supposed to get out of here? I sigh through my nose. I walk closer to the wall of the crater. Luckily, it seems rough enough that I should be able to climb out.

 

Setting my jaw, I dig my fingers into the packed earth and begin climbing. It takes a minute or two of scrambling and stretching, but I finally haul myself over the edge and roll out onto the earth. I stare up at the sky for a few minutes before getting to my feet. The forest is dark, but I can see a glimmer of light a maybe a city block or two away. I stagger through the forest, pushing branches and leaves out of my way, trying not to trip over the underbrush. When I finally break the line of forest, I see a small bar across a tiny cracked road.

 

I limp across the road, scanning my surroundings. The bar is a dim dank little thing that seems to lean to one side. A broken red neon sign, blinks CHEVY’S. I push open the doors. When I enter, everyone (meaning three burly dudes and the butch female bartender) stops and stares. I don’t blame them. I must look like a psycho. Covered in twigs and leaves, dirt, limping in, in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. At least my boots are still on from my walk with Dean.

 

“I uh,” I sob out, making myself look scared and, adding in a lip tremble, “I got carjacked … I need … I need a phone …” I keep sobbing hysterically.

 

“Alright, sweetie,’ the bartender says, “Ya’ll need to calm down. Let’s get ya a drink.”

 

She looks me up and down. Her dark hair is cut short and lays in short spikes across her tan skin. She smiles gently at me, pours me a beer, and sets it on the counter. I reach for it, forcing my hands to tremble as I grasp the mug, and chug it down. It takes everything in me not to gag. I fucking hate beer. I sit on one of the barstools. I make sure to let a small sob or shaky breath out every so often.

 

“Alright honey, now that we’ve gotten some drink into ya, let’s hear it out,” she says, leaning forward on her elbows. She’s about two thirds of my height, but beefy where I’m limber.

 

“There – there was a man … “ I stutter out, “He – he ran into the middle of the road, wa-waving his arms and stuff. I – I thought he was hurt or – or something. So I – I pulled over …” I let out a burst of sobs, “And – and they jumped me, three guys, stole my car, my money ... everything …”

 

Everyone is looking at me sympathetically. All the burly dudes, move in closer. One, with soft hazel eyes and a thick dark beard smiles grimly at me. He’s got a red bandana wrapped around his head, a biker vest, ripped jeans, and combat boots. There’s something about his face though, maybe it’s his eyes, that makes me want to trust him.

 

“We’ll go search for them,” he says, “The name’s Parker. What’s yours?”

 

I take a deep breath, “Ella … Ella Lamoureux.” Using my mother’s maiden name. I mean, the best of lies hold a kernel of truth, am I right?

 

He smiles at me before going over to the other guys and having a hushed conversation with them. When he comes back, he pulls out a seat for me. I take it gingerly and watch him as he sits opposite of me.

 

“So my buddies ... they’re gonna go look for trace of whoever did this,” he says, “I’ll wait here with you. If we don’t find anything, we’ll call it into the police.”

 

I nod.

 

“Drinks are on me tonight,” he says.

 

He slides a hundred dollar bill to the bartender and tells her I’m to have whatever I want. We both have a some shots, beers, etc. But I’m not drinking as much as him. For a reason. So here’s my plan. Get him wasted, steal his keys, ride his Harley into the fucking sunset. Except, it doesn’t exactly go like that. After a couple hours of shots and shots and shots, he seems just fine. Like seriously, this motherfucker’s alcohol tolerance might be as high as Dean’s. And that’s freaking impressive.

 

Slowly though, too slowly, his tolerance wans. I can see his eyes becoming glassier, and his words becoming slurred. He tells me about his time in military, navy. I watch as he leans forward every so often, his eyes grazing my mouth. I can tell he’s attracted to me. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him too. That makes this that much harder. Because the more he talks, the more I realize I actually like the dude. In the dim light of the bar, I can see a certain softness in the hazel of his eyes. SO as I laugh, and let my fingers too casually brush his arm. I know he’s really drunk when he stands and wobbles and sits back down, chuckling.

 

“I think the booze is starting to get to me,” he mutters.

 

I smile, “I gotta run to the ladies room, but I’ll be back for ya.”

 

He grins, “Babe, I’ll be right here waiting for ya.”

 

I force a giggle, “Oh, so … I’m babe now?”

 

He shrugs nonchalantly, “If I were to describe ya …”

 

I roll my eyes and stand. I’m decently steady on my feet. But I make a big show of stumbling. Parker stands and catches me, even though he’s just as unsteady on his feet. And in the seconds that he holds me, I slip my hand into his pocket and swipe his keys. I slip them into my own jacket pocket before placing my hands on his chest, smiling and leaning in a little.

 

“Thanks,” I force a slur, “I’ll be back for ya.”

 

He smiles and shakes his head. I stumble towards the bathroom. Time to enact my dirty dirty master plan. Once I’m in the bathroom, I look around for a window. There is none. I sigh. Seriously? My plan has already been harder than I wanted it to be, and now it’s about to be even more difficult. Of fucking course. I use the bathroom and then head back into the bar.

 

I sidle up to Parker on the bar, my hands brushing his arm. He smiles at me and puts his arm around my waist. I smile at him, a sleepy, sweet smile that makes me seem innocent and sweet. He presses his lips to the shell of my ear.

 

“Let’s get some air,” he says.

 

I smile, “Okay.”

 

He leads me outside. The night air is crisp, cool. Once we’re outside, he release me. He steps away a little bit and shoves his hands in his pockets. The dude’s stocky, built like a brick shit house. The look he gives me though. He knows. I give him a wry smile.

 

“Ya know, you didn’t have to be that dramatic if ya wanted a bike,” he says, “With all that carjacked crap. Coulda asked for a ride.”

 

I snort, “Well, the thing is, I don’t know where I am and I barely know how I got here.”

 

“I don’t know what happened to you,” he says, “But take the bike, Ella. You need it more than I do.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

He shrugs, “People who’ve gone through things, you can see it on them. I can see it on you. You might not have served, but you’ve got that look about you. You also got that look like you’re about to be shipped off again.”

 

I don’t answer that. Instead, I smile, “Thanks Parker.” I pause, assessing him with my eyes one more time, “It’s Elvira by the way. Elvira Castle.”

 

“Anytime then, Elvira” he says, “And maybe when you’re done with whatever war you’re fighting… gimme a call.”

 

I smile, “Maybe I will.” Well, that was unexpected. I smile at him, a full real smile. None of that sleepy fake bullshit for him. And he smiles back. And it’s such a warm smile, but a little sad, like he knows I’ll never call.

 

I pull his keys out of my pocket. His bike’s the only one left in the parking lot. I straddle it and put the key in the ignition. In less than five minutes, Parker and the blinking neon lights of Chevy’s fade into the distance. I look for road signs. Turns out I’m in Utah. A day’s drive. And so I drive. How I know how to ride a motorcycle, I’m not sure. I’m grateful for the skill either way. The landscape flashes by and all I can think about is getting back to the bunker. The boys are probably going out of their minds.

 

By the time I pull up to the bunker, it’s already late afternoon. I find the code box to open the garage and wait for then I push the doors open. The Impala is inside which means the boys are here. I park the bike in the garage and pocket the keys.

 

My first step inside the bunker seems so loud. But I take a deep breath and it smells like home. Home. The boys. Like gunpowder, and leather, and cologne, and musty old books. I walk down the hall and into the library, then through to the living room. Nothing. I go into the kitchen. Zilch. Dean’s bedroom. Zero. Sam’s bedroom. Empty. My bedroom. Absolutely nothing has changed about my room, but there’s something about it. Like it’s been sealed off, like I’m opening a tomb.

 

I sigh through my nose. All this fucking way and all that god damn speeding for nothing. The least I expected were some tears of relief! You know what I’m not getting? Tears of fucking relief! I want my goddamn tears! And hugs! From both of them! I want my boys.

 

I begin searching random rooms, rooms I didn’t even know existed. Then I stumble across one that seems … well suspicious. It’s a man cave more or less, with a bar and a foosball and a TV. A TV that’s glowing pink. You know, like they do. And showing an episode of Scooby-doo featuring who? You guessed it! Our two favorite jackasses! With a feature from douche of the Lord. I step into the room to take a closer look at the TV. And I feel it. And Sam and Dean are standing outside the TV with Cas. Nobody has seen me yet. I take another step into the room.

 

“Huh … okay … that was something,” Sam says, his voice awed.

 

“That was the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Dean says, “And that includes the Cartwright twins.”

 

“What did you do with the Cartwright twins?” Cas asks, his voice deadpan. And I almost laugh.

 

“Oh,” Dean laughs awkwardly, and stammers, before whipping around and saying, “I’ll be right back.” The last word fades though when he sees me. His green eyes are stormy. Sam turns to see what Dean’s looking at. Both brother’s are staring at me in utter disbelief. Sam’s easier to read. Relief. Confusion. Shock. Dean’s a brick wall though. As per friggen usual.

 

“Hello boys,” I says soflty, smirking slightly. I mean, after all, I have an image to maintain.

 

 

 


	26. Guess Who’s Back Back Back, Back Again-gain-gain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to a chapter of feelings and slight porn. But mostly feelings. Double update because both these chapters are short, then on thursday, back to our regularly scheduled programming because all of a sudden the chapters get like long as fuck. ANyways, enjoy! Love y'all.

**Chapter 26: Guess Who’s Back Back Back, Back Again-gain-gain**

 

“E – Elvira,” Sam stammers out, “We thought you were dead, that Asmodeus had somehow gotten you.”

 

Both men are staring at me slack jawed. Dean’s eyes trace up and down my form, but Sam’s stay squarely on my face. Suddenly the room seems too tight, too small to contain us. I want to just lunge forward and throw my arms around them. The weight of everything that has happened to me, presses into me. But I have to be strong. For them. I know now more than ever that nobody can save me from Calenmai.

 

I cock my head, “I was only gone for … what … a day? Two? And you guys assume I’m demon meat?”

 

Sam shakes his head, “Elvira – you were … you were gone for a month.”

 

A nervous laugh escapes my throat, and I look between the brothers, “No … no, that’s impossible.”

 

Dean is still staring at me, when he opens his mouth his voice is cold and edged, “Where were you?”

 

I almost flinch at his tone, used to the gentle softness I’d come to know, but I don’t. Instead, I straighten out my back and look him in the eyes. I won’t yield. I don’t know why he’s treating me like this, but I’ll be damned if I let it get to me.

 

“After we went on that walk,” I say in a measured tone, “I laid down to rest … I was tired all of a sudden. And then … then I was in this darkness … an infinite darkness. Calenmai was there.” Nobody says anything, so I continue, “He’s been trying to find me, but it’s not proven easy. He tried asking me where I was Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything.” I take a deep breath, “He tried grab me. My … power … kicked in. And I travelled back here. I crashed into earth in Utah, stole a Harley … kinda …, and now I’m here.”

 

Suddenly, I’m dripping wet. Dean’s holding a flask. Holy water. Of course. I wipe the dripping water out of my eyes and off my face. I glare at Dean. I get it. I really do. Can’t be too careful and all that. But if I was a demon, would I have really gotten in here? Then, Dean lunges forward and pins me to the wall. He whips out a silver knife and slice my arm. I yelp in pain, but nothing out of the ordinary happens.

 

“Listen douche,” I hiss, his face close to mine, “I have an anti-possession tattoo. That you made me get. And on top of that, demons can’t just waltz into the bunker.”

 

“Elvira …” his voice is soft and a little shaky, and husky in that way that makes me want him. He pulls me into his arms.

 

“It’s me,” I whisper, fully leaning into him, letting his arms envelope me. And I feel safe. I know that for them, it’s been a month, for me it’s been two days … maybe. They’ve probably been out of their minds with worry for a whole month. His arms tighten around me and I can feel his breath on my neck. He holds me out at arms length, his eyes roving over my face.

 

“We thought you were dead,” he growls, “I thought you were dead! And you’re just fucking fine. You’re here, acting like nothing ever happened! A month, Princess! You were gone for a month! And I’m just supposed to … what … what am I supposed to do?”

 

“Two days,” I mutter.

 

“What?” he demands.

 

“It was only two days for me,” I say.

 

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, his voice calmer.

 

“Time passes differently in the Between,” I say softly, “Honestly, it felt like no time at all had passed. Or like … years had. Time was fluid, changing. And then when I was slipping between universes, it was … like … I can’t even explain it.”

 

“Slipping between universes?” Dean demands, “You can travel between them?”

 

I nod, “But it’s not easy. And I get sick. I think the only reason I was able to this time, you know without like practice and training, is because Calenmai triggered it.”

 

“You could take us to Apocalypse World,” Sam breathes.

 

I glance at him, “I – maybe.” I shake my head dismissively, “But I have no idea how to even begin using this power by myself. It could take months … maybe years … before I can slip into even a neighboring world. And Apocalypse World … that’d be a jump. And after this happened accidentally … I was sick. Nauseous, I couldn’t move, dizzy. I was like that for a day.”

 

“But it’s possible …” Sam demands.

 

I whip to face him, “Are you not listening to me, you numb skull? I. Don’t. Know.”

 

“Elvira,” Dean’s voice vibrates along my bones, “Will you try?”

 

Sam’s got a great puppy dog face, but when I face Dean, his eyes are so lost. The eye contact lasts for almost a minute before I break it to glance at Sam. Both men are like giant fucking puppies with those sad begging eyes.

 

“On one condition,” I say, “You guys can’t use me as the be all, end all. You need to act like I’m not an option. And I will try to figure it out.”

  
  
Both boys nod and Sam says, “I understand.”

 

“Good,” I says softly, “Now do you guys got any grub? I’m famished.”

 

“We gotta finish up this case,” Dean says, “But there’s food in the kitchen.”

 

I nod. Suddenly, I need to be alone. I feel like their whole world is resting on my shoulders. I step out of Dean’s embrace and slip out of the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see them exchanging confused glances. The kitchen is a welcome relief. I fix myself some food. I hear the boys leave. Part of me wishes I could untell them about meeting my father. I have absolutely no faith I can help them save their mother, but I know that even if they deny it, both of them do.

 

When they get back an hour later, they find me in the living room, staring blankly at the wall. My meeting with Calenmai plays on repeat. I dissect it over and over trying to find anything that could help me trigger the power in my blood. It seems to react when I’m in danger. Or very very angry. Cas completely ignores me, brushing past in a beige wind of angelic douchery.

 

“How’re you doing El?” Sam asks, pausing by my chair.

 

“I’m doin’ fine Sammy,” I reply, “Just trying to figure out my Jedi powers.”

 

“Anything I can help with?” he asks.

 

I shake my head,

 

“Well, I’m heading to bed,” he says, “Dean’s in the garage mooning over your kinda stolen bike.”

 

I snort, “Of course he is.” I stand up, and give him a big ole hug. “Get some sleep Samuel. I’m gonna make sure you’re brother isn’t planning to steal my sorta stolen bike.”

 

Sam gives me one last squeeze before heading down the hall towards his bedroom. I leave the living room and head out to the garage. Dean’s there straddling my newly acquired piece of machinery and holy Jesus fuck does he look delicious on that bike. He’s in jeans, boots, a t-shirt, and a plaid over-shirt. His eyes are closed and he’s got his hands on the handlebars, like he’s imagining riding it down an empty highway in the middle of the heartland.

 

I come up beside him. Gently, I take one of his hands off the handlebars and move it so I can slide in. I’m pretty much on his lap, but whatever. Dean hasn’t moved though, at all. His eyes are open and he’s watching me. It takes everything in me not to just grind my ass into his cock through our jeans, but you know … I do have some self-control, however little it may be.

 

“What’s up?” I breathe into the silence.

 

He doesn’t respond. I crane my neck to look at him and the dead look in his eyes is enough to melt the heart of someone who’s been frozen solid. I lean back into him more, letting my body sort of collapse into his, fitting perfectly. His hand that’s not gripping the handlebar comes to rest on my hip. He leans a little in, but it’s almost like it’s involuntary.

 

“Dean …” I whisper.

 

“I can’t save you, can I?” his voice is rough with emotion.

 

“I – no … no, no you can’t,” I say quietly. I rest my head on his shoulder, leaning it back. “And that’s okay, Dean. It’s not your job to save everyone. Some people just can’t be helped.”

 

“What’s the point of all this then?” he growls, “You jumping into our lives. Cuz I sure as shit don’t understand it. More pain, more suffering. What is the point if I can’t save you?”

 

I shrug, “Maybe there isn’t one. Or maybe the point is to make each other happy for a little while. Or maybe it’s just to be. Who knows? Either way though. I am grateful for the little time I have gotten to spend with you and Sam.”

 

“You disappeared,” he almost chokes it out, “And you left your iPod, and all your clothes, and every day … every damn day … I had to walk past your room and wonder what the hell I coulda done. I had to picture you dead over and over and over because I couldn’t let myself so much as hope you were still alive.”

 

“I’m alive,” I say softly, reaching back and brushing my hand to his cheek.

 

“But for how long?” he whispers back.

 

“Who knows Dean? Maybe for a month, maybe a year, maybe for a good seventy or eighty years,” I shoot back, “But I’m not gonna spend whatever time I have left wallowing. I’m gonna live my life.”

 

And so I crane my head towards his neck and kiss it. Gently, almost like ghosting my lips over the muscle there. I let my tongue dart out and taste the sweat on his skin. I feel the shudder run though him, even as heat starts to pool in my core. I take the hand resting on my hips and guide it beneath the waistband of my sweats and into my panties. Obligingly, he runs two fingers experimentally along my slit, almost like he’s testing the waters. When he finds me damp, he groans right into my ear, which only makes me even wetter.

 

He’s hard against my backside now. I want him. Right here on this bike or on the hood of the Impala to our left. I grind myself on his hand, undulating my hips quickly and smoothly. The friction is more of a tease than anything. His free hand slips under the hem of my shirt and up into my bra. His fingers switch between tweaking my nipple and just squeezing my whole breast. He groans into my hair again, as he slides his fingers along my slit, teasing my opening.

 

“Dean?” I breathe.

 

“Princess?” his voice is dark with desire. And fuck me … I want him to call me Princess again. I’m weak. Fucking weak trash.

 

“You know how it’s been a day for me and a month for you?” I somehow manage to get out. He hums in response, so I continue, “Well, I want you to fuck me like you haven’t seen me in a month.”

 

That’s enough for him. He stands us both up. He pushes me down so I’m bent over and yanks my pants and panties down in one move. I feel his hands cup my ass, spreading my cheeks a little. Then his fingers slide along my slit, spreading my folds. He slips on digit inside me, slowly, curling it. I buck at the sensation and Dean chuckles darkly.

 

“You want me to fuck you like I haven’t seen you in a month?” he growls into my ear. He adds another digit and begins pumping them rhythmically. I moan, a long drawn out sound. His fingers slip out of me and trace up to my clit, toying with it, teasing it in tantalizing circles. I moan again. “Well, Princess, it felt like … years. It felt like having my stomach ripped out of my ass on an endless loop for a month. Every time I thought about you. Thinking maybe you ran away. Wondering if somehow Asmodeus had gotten you.” Then he stops. His hand stops. “And you want me to fuck you like I haven’t seen you in a month? Like that’s gonna fix it?” He stands up completely, stepping off the bike. I straighten up to look at him. We come face to face. He takes my chin in one of his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.

 

“No, Princess,” he says, “I’m not gonna fuck you. I can hardly believe you’re standing in front of me. And you think all I want to do is fuck you. No. No ... Princess.”

 

And he walks away. The door to the garage slams. I pull my pants up. All the fight seems to go out of me. I collapse on the seat of the bike. What a fucking dick. I storm inside and go to my room, slamming my door behind me. That’s not my fucking fault. None of this is. I can’t control it. I can’t control any of this. I can’t control any of this and I swear to God it’s gonna kill me.

 


	27. The Link Between Interdimensional Doors and Tentacle Porn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Back to our regularly scheduled programming! I woulda posted this earlier today, but I was busy writing another chapter for y'all hooligans! Love ya! I'm thinking that when this fic is *gasp* done, that I might post all the chapters at once instead of once a week. Would that be something you guys would want? Or do you live for the suspense? HAHAHA! PLS comment, kudos, etc. it ACTUALLY gives me life. Lots of love XO Ghost

**Chapter 27: The Link Between Interdimensional Doors and Tentacle Porn**

 

The next day, I wake up early and shower. I dress in sweats and a tank top, then I head into one of the extra rooms of the bunker, an empty one. I sit on the floor. I have to try and reach that well of power. I reach inside myself and find … nothing. Not even a hint or a purr of that power that launched me through the Between. An hour passes, two, as I yank and yank at the well inside myself, trying to find something, anything. Nothing pulls at me though. It’s like I feel my power there, but every time I try to grab it, it disappears. Awwwww … it’s fucking shy.

 

When Sam pokes his head into the room, I’m almost grateful for the distraction, “So this is where you’ve been.”

 

I look up at him from my place on the floor, “I’ve been trying to … trigger … my power.”

 

“Anything?”

 

I shake my head, “It’s like reaching for something that’s there, but not there. Like phantom limb syndrome.”

 

He leans against the doorway, “Does it hurt? Or anything?”

 

“No,” I say, running my hands through my hair, “Just a whole lotta frustrating.”

 

Sam snorts, “Tell me about it.” He pauses for a moment, “While you were … gone … we got a lead on opening the rift.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, but, uh, at least two of the ingredients are a little difficult to come by,” he says, “the Men of Letters had one of them and we’re trying to track it down.”

 

“And?”

 

“And …” he raises his hands, “It’s pretty much like you said, a whole lotta frustrating.”

 

“How are you guys looking?” I ask.

 

“We’ve been in the archives for the last hour,” Sam says placing emphasis on the word hour.

 

I stand and stretch, easing out my cramped limbs. I spent a long time sitting criss cross on this floor and my legs are paying the price. Sam watches me stand up. I give him a big smile.

 

“I’m gonna come help you guys look,” I say.

 

“Are you sure?” he asks, “It’s pretty boring.”

 

I nod, “I need a break anyways. So if I’m not doing this, may as well be doing that.”

 

Sam just nods. He pushes himself off the doorway and turns around. That’s when I notice them, the sticky notes stuck to his back. They say things like ‘dum dum’ and ‘kick me’. There’s not a doubt in my mind that this is Dean’s handiwork. I snort. They’re such freaking dweebs.

 

“Sam?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Nothing – never mind,” I say smiling. Whatever. Let Dean have his fun. Even if he was a top notch prick last night. I wonder what’s gotten into him. I shrug it off as best I can, but it bugs the hell out of me.

 

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” he says, “I’ll be right out.”

 

“I’ll wait,” I say, “Since I’m not exactly sure where the archives are anyways.”

 

Sam only nods and disappears into the bathroom. I wait down the hall a little bit.

 

“Sam!” Dean yells, rounding the corner at the same time Sam notices his brother’s little gifts on his back. I hold back my laughter. As Dean charges into the bathroom, carrying a box marked with the Men of Letters insignia.

 

  
“Are you serious?” I hear Sam huff,

 

“What? Oh, it’s hilarious,” Dean says dismissively, “Forget that! Look! The Men of Letters found it! Solomon’s Treasure!” I hear him set the box down. I figure it’s safe to go in, so I walk into the bathroom as casually as possible.

 

“Where?” Sam asks, clearly excited.

 

Dean is opening the box as I walk in and handing a folder to Sam, “1917. In what is modern day Israel. According to this they dug it up.” He leans over to point at something on the papers, “And, uh, here, look at the, uh, right there.”

 

Sam reads out loud, “Uhhh … And among the items found … a crystal that glowed with an unearthly light.”

 

Dean holds his arms out triumphantly, “That’s gotta be the seal, right?”

 

“It’s gotta be. Where is it?”

 

“Uhh, it says that they took it to, uh, cap – capituhlum Seven in Portsmouth, Rhode Island.”

 

“Capitulum Seven,” Sam clarifies. And pronounces it correctly.

 

“Yeah,” Dean confirms.

 

“Capitulum means, uh, chapterhouse,” Sam says.

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, nodding vigorously, like it’s something he already knew.

 

“So the Men of Letters has – has only one bunker, but they have smaller outposts all over the place” Sam explains, “Capitulum One is in Jamestown. Capitulum Seven, I guess, is in Portsmouth, Rhode Island.”

 

“There it is,” Dean says, then he adds with a shit eating grin, “Jinkies.”

 

Sam drops the paper, deadpan, “You’re gonna stop saying that eventually, right.”

 

Dean kinda shrugs, “I don’t know. Probably not.”

 

“Look!” he claps his hands and yells, “Let’s go!”

 

He turns towards the door where I’m standing. A dozen emotions cross his face before his features settle into a neutral mask. I smile a little bit, hoping to coax him out of whatever mood he’s in where I’m concerned. It seems to work. He breaks into a grin.

 

“C’mon Elvira,” he says, “We’re burnin’ daylight! We might not need your superpowers after all!”

 

I roll my eyes, “You’re impossible.”

 

He flashes me another grin before striding out of the room. Well, at least that went well. I scram and go get dressed. I pull on a pair of ripped jeans, a black tank top, and gray and purple plaid shirt. I throw on a leather jacket and yank on boots. I toss some pjs and a couple extra sets of clothes into my backpack. A knock sounds on my doors as I’m gathering my iPod, charger, and other odds and ends. I open it to find Dean standing there looking rather sheepish.

 

Against my very strong will, my face heats and I smile very awkwardly. Dean shoves his hands deep into his pockets. Say something! I have to say something!

 

“Listen, about last night –,” he starts right as I say, “Hey, I’m sorry –.”

 

“Go ahead,” I say, waving my hand.

 

“About last night,” his voice is remarkably gruff, “I’m sorry. I’m still not over the fact that you’re alive. In a good way! And you kinda surprised me. And I was angry, but not really at you.”

 

“It’s fine, Dean,” I say, “Really. I get it.” I don’t get it, but my heart softens at his idiotic fumbling.

 

His eyes narrow, “If there’s anything I’ve learned about women, it’s that you don’t trust a girl who says she’s on the pill and if a woman says it’s fine, it’s definitely not fine.”

 

I laugh, “Honestly Dean, it’s okay.” Then I grab his shirt and pull him into my room, kicking the door shut behind him. I reach both hands up and tilt his face down to mine. Our lips touch in an electric pulse. There’s no hesitation, but no hurried frenzy either. My heart pounds against my rib cage in a delicious sort of way. Dean’s hand slides to the small of my back, holding me against him. Our lips move together in perfect sweet synchronization. This is the kiss we might have shared if we were just a man and woman with no demons, no fate. Perfectly normal. And the very selfish, very human side of me wanted to experience it just once. We break away slowly.

 

“What was that for?” he asks, searching my face.

 

I smile, “I just appreciate the apology.”

 

He grins. “Well, if that’s what saying sorry get me, I’ll fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness like a sinner in church.”

 

I roll my eyes, “You’re an idiot.”

 

He grins, his eyes crinkling, “You love it.”

 

“Aren’t we on a mission?” I demand.

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mutters, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Princess.”

 

We slip out of my room and meet Sam at the car. Then we are on the road. It’s a days drive, give or take. I spend the time going through a Men of Letters file on their weird encounters, listening to music, and napping. By the time we get there, my legs are cramped, my eyes are strained, and I’m antsy as all hell. The building we roll up to is ancient, covered in greenery, and otherwise very clearly abandoned.

 

We all get out of the car and start poking around. In the distance a train whistle blows. Honestly, it doesn’t look like much, but then, in the spirit of the Men of Letters, it usually doesn’t. Dean looks around skeptically.

 

“You sure this is it?” he asks Sam.

 

“That’s … what the map says,” Sam says, uncertainly.

 

We walk a little further and Dean says, “So where’s the door?”

 

Sam notices it first, what looks like an ordinary manhole. He says Dean’s name, then mine like an afterthought. Sam mutters something in disbelief, as he brushes leaves covering it off.

 

“Ask questions, get answers,” Dean says.

 

Sam pulls out the key to the Men of Letters bunker. Hopefully, it works because it would be just our luck if it didn’t. Dean drops down into the darkness first. Sam helps me down next, lowering me into Dean’s arms. While Sam is still topside, Dean sneaks a quick kiss onto my neck. I can’t help the smile that spreads and I don’t help the eye roll. Both boys whip out flashlights, and click them on. Sam looks around for a moment to orient himself, before pointing the flashlight to his left.

 

“This way,” he says.

 

Dean spots the breaker. A massive switch on the wall. He hands me the flashlight to hold. I point the beam at the switch. Dean pushes it up and the place hums with electricity. Dean runs his hands together and holds out his hand for his flashlight. I press it into his hand, running my thumb along his palm. He shoots me a look, but doesn’t say anything. We continue walking.

 

“Looks familiar, huh?” Dean comments on how  _similar_  it is to the bunker.

 

Sam points the beam at one of the doors, focusing on the crest. It’s the same as the Men of Letters, except the eye in the center. For some reason, it gives me some seriously bad vibes.

 

“Except for that,” Sam says. Dean hums in confirmation.

 

We start opening doors at random, checking to see what they hold. A lot are just bedrooms. We find what seems like an office. A kitchenette. Finally we find a room stacked with books and files.

 

“Great … more books,” Dean says about as happy as a cat in water.

 

“You love books,” Sam shoots book, then walking more fully into the room and surveying it, “Look for anything on King Solomon.”

 

I take a cursory gaze around the room. Dean walks over to the table. I scan the walls of literature, hoping something will stand out. Nothing really does. I hear Sam mumble something behind me and then the crash of things falling to the floor. I whip around and Sam is holding a huge file.

 

“Dean? Elvira?” Sam says.

 

Dean and hum in unison.

 

“Check this out,” Sam breathes.

 

We’re about to walk over to him when we hear the shouting. A distant echo through the building, definitely a young woman yelling things like ‘help me’ and ‘is somebody there’. We all exchange a look, and then we take off. We follow the cries for help to the source by ear. Down the hall, around a few corners, and then up a short flight of stairs. The door is locked so Sam and Dean have to bust it in. A girl who looks about my age is chained to an alter. She has wavy blonde hair and brown eyes and is dressed like she just left one of Jay Gatsby’s fabulous parties.

 

“Who are you?” she breathes.

 

“We’re here to help you,” Sam replies as we approach her.

 

Dean looks over her, “How long have you been down here?”

 

“I don’t know,” the girl breathes, “You have to get me out of here.”

 

A look of confusion crosses Dean’s features, “Wait, are you Sandy Porter? Born in 1903?”

 

“Yes,” she says, looking as confused as Sam and I, “Thank God you found me.”

 

The boys immediately set about getting the chains off her, but something about this just doesn’t feel right to me. Something about her. I can feel my power coiling up like a snake on the defense, but I say nothing. Everyone gets bad feelings from time to time. Dean gets the chains off her and they help her stand. She looks at me and I swear there’s a flicker of … recognition. It’s gone too fast for me to be sure and she just seems like a lost helpless girl. I think I’m going crazy. The tendril of power though, the one I’ve been trying so desperately since yesterday to get ahold of, stays primed.

 

“Elvira, you’re shirt,” Dean says.

 

I take my jacket off, then my shirt, and toss him the plaid. He slips it over her shoulders. I’m taller than her and definitely meatier, so the shirt is loose. Not saying I’m overweight, but I’ve got curves and she, well, she’s a board. I put my jacket back on. As we all leave the capitulum, Sam and Dean start giving her the whole _the future is now_ speech.

 

When we reach the entrance, Dean gives Sam a boost out. Then Dean hands me up to Sam, followed by Sandy. The girl avoids my eyes, but I watch her … like a fucking hawk. Anything that draws my power out from under it’s stubborn rock, is something to keep an eye on. Sam helps Dean out and then closes the lid on the place. As we make it back to the car, Sam and Dean are explaining phones and, well, the car … or trying to. I can’t focus on anything they’re saying. I’m just trying to keep ahold of my power. Or keep a handle on it. You know, whichever.

 

We drive to the nearest eatery. A tiny dive diner called Krispy’s. Inside, the waitress tells us to sit anywhere we want. We take a booth, with Sam and Sandy on one side and Dean and I on the other. We look like a normal pair of couples on a double date. As if anything about us could ever be normal. I run my eyes over sandy again. Innocent. Hurt. But that tendril of power runs along my bones, pushing at my fingertips.

 

When I zone back in, the waitress is explain a bit about the menu, “Well, people love the clam cakes, but if you ask me, you gotta try the stuffies.”

 

Dean looks like he’s about to start drooling, “I don’t know what the stuffies are, but I’ll take two. And the clam cakes.”

 

“Anything to drink?”

 

“Uh, water will be great,” Sam interjects.

 

“Oh, that’s exciting,” the waitress says, with a teasing smile. Comes with a lemon, you sure you can handle that?” She pauses before looking at Sandy, “How ‘bout you sweetie? Oh, my goodness, you’re all skin and bones! When was the last time you ate somethin’?”

 

“We’ll just, uh, get her the meatloaf,” Sam says.

 

“How ‘bout you, hun?” she asks, looking at me.

 

“I – uh ,” I panic, glancing down at the menu. I’m not hungry, but I should order something. “I’ll get the crab burger.”

 

“Good choice,” she says approvingly.

 

The waitress takes our order to the kitchen. Sandy looks around, very confused. Hell, I was confused when I first turned up here, or rather tumbled out of the bushes and into Dean’s arms. I understand that.

 

“I don’t … how am I still alive?” she asks.

 

“Um … we don’t really know yet,” Sam concedes.

 

“And … and how are you so calm about the fact that … I’m still alive?” she looks Dean in the eyes.

 

“It’s kinda weird,” he says, “But it’s sorta our thing.”

 

“I – I don’t know what that means,” she says.

 

“It means we can help you,” Sam says quickly, “Which means we have to um … You know what, let’s start with the basics. How did you get down there in the first place?”

 

I start to pay better attention as Sandy talks, “I met this man. He said that he was … a part of a secret club. I thought he was talking about a speakeasy or something. But he called it … Men of … Words?”

 

“Men of Letters?” Sam clarifies.

 

I zone out again, paying attention to the pull in my gut that is my power. But my ears perk in again when they mention the rip in the air. In my meeting with Calenmai, I learned that that’s not normal. It is possible to travel between universes, for people or beings that are authorized. But when people who are not authorized and really have no business world jumping, the gateway opens in the form of a rip. A sign that it’s not normal. If not properly controlled, that rip can tear the entire world in two. Since I’m half Precursor, the Void or the Between, what is essentially the space between realities, opens and closes doors, reshapes itself, however I want it to. If I could control the power, that is.

 

Sandy rushing off, pulls me out of my thoughts. As soon as she’s gone, Sam and Dean start gossiping like a pair of old ladies.

 

“Ok, what the hell … I – I mean we tested her for everything, holy water, silver …” Sam says, she passed it all. So …”

 

“Yeah,” Dean argues, “And she’s been down in the basement for ninety years. How does she look the way she does? And this doesn’t sound like the Men of Letters either. I mean, they’re boring. They wear tweed. They smoke from pipes. They-they … don’t kidnap people.”

 

“Except apparently, they did,” Sam points out, “Oh, and this, uh, the – the – the flash of light Sandy talks about seeing, the ‘rip in the air’ sounds like –.”

 

“Like a rift,” Dean fills in, “So what? Now they’re opening doors to other worlds and Buffalo Billing chicks?"

 

“And feeding a monster. So … not boring after all.” Sam says.

 

My voice sounds distant even to me when I cut it, “It’s not a door to another world. It’s literally a hole, a hole in the walls of reality.” Both men look at me, “There are no ‘doors’.”

 

“Wha’d’ya mean?” Dean asks.

 

“Imagine the walls between realities being made of solid steel,” I say quietly, “But there are … mail slots. People with the right energy frequency, me for instance, can use the mail slots to travel into other realities or slip into the Void. But most people have no idea that the wall is there, let alone the mail slots. Theoretically, maybe some magic could be done to … open a mail slot to the public, but right now there is none.”

 

“What about the rifts?” Sam asks.

 

“Those are quite literally cracks in the wall, a hole torn through time and space and the very fabric of reality,” I say, “Infinitely dangerous and hard to control.”

 

“How are they dangerous?” Dean asks.

 

“It’s a rip in reality,” I explain, “What happens to a tear if you pull a little to hard, or someone else does, or sometimes it just seems to happen all on its’ own.”

 

“They get bigger,” Sam mutters, swallowing.

 

I nod, “If you’re not careful, you’re reality will end up as a black hole in the Void.” Both men are looking at me like I just told them that they’re gonna die. “Your guys’ spell should be stable enough. Archangel grace has a very high energy frequency, that combined with all the other ingredients … and the fact that this reality is similar to your own … you should be fine.”

 

“Elvira …” Sam asks, “How do you know all this?”

 

I shrug, “When Calenmai and I had our little meet and greet, some knowledge kinda leaked from his head into mine.”

 

“And your Papa’s an expert on travelling between universes,” Dean scoffs.

 

“Actually, yes,” I say, “Given that they created and control them to an extent.”

 

“Okay, back to our subject at hand, we’ll talk about the Rift travel later,” Dean says, “All the Men of Letters died sixty years ago.”

 

“Longer than that,” Sam adds.

 

“So who’s been keeping her down there?” Dean points out.

 

Sam looks off for a second as a food’s up bell dings before saying, “You know what? How ‘bout this? You stay here with Sandy. Elvira and I will go back –.”

 

“No, no, no. What?” Dean immediately goes into overprotective macho dog mode.

 

“What?” Sam demands.

 

“I’m not letting you guys go back there by yourselves,” Dean grouses. Sam says Dean’s name trying to reason with him, but Dean continues on, “No, this is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna find Sandy and Elvira a motel room. Teach her how to use the TV – well, first we’re gonna have to tell her what a TV is. And then, you and I will go back there together."

 

Right then, our food comes, the waitress, listing off the food items, “Lobster roll, no bun, and kale salad for you, String Bean.”

 

“Kale is a garnish,” Dean mutter, like the leafy green plant has personally and deeply offended him somehow.

 

“It’s healthy,” Sam argues, “I’m watching my cholesterol. Like you should be.”

 

“Yeah, I’m watching my cholesterol,” Dean says, still irked, “Watching it go up.”

 

The waitress brings the rest of food. I hope Dean knows that if we find Sandy a motel room, I’m not staying with her. I don’t babysit. I’m the daughter of an all-powerful super-being. I refuse to be relegated to babysitting some ho while the boys get to go have all the fun. Also, it has absolutely nothing to do with the really bad vibes I get from her. Nothing. Okay, maybe a little. The waitress comes back with Dean’s orders of stuffies and his clam cakes.

 

Dean points at the piece of kale in the middle of the stuffies, “See? Garnish.”

 

“And meat loaf and crab burger for our young ladies,” the waitress says.

 

As I’m about to dig into my food, a young man approaches our table, “Hey, something weird’s going on.” He glances out the window.

 

Sam, Dean, and I all peer through the blinds. Several figures in red robes are standing out in the darkness. Dean shoots Sam and I a look. Obviously, they’re here for the girl.

 

“Sam,” Dean says, “Go get Sandy.” Sam coughs and shakes his head like it’s fuzzy and he’s trying to clear it. Oh bad, very bad. “Sam? Hey!” Sam collapses, his face falling onto his arm. The food must have been drugged. Despite the fact that the crab burger looks delightful, I’m relieved I didn’t get to dig in.

 

The electricity starts to go haywire and the robe freaks start marching in. The boy who warned us tries getting in their way, but he’s easily dealt with. Sandy comes out of the bathroom. Dean calls her over, tells her to sit. Then they start attacking Dean and I. I’m not skilled enough in combat to put up much of a fight. I dodge punches, using my stripper’s flexibility to my advantage. I dodge, step back, throw a hit to an exposed rib cage. I sweep a leg out, tripping up my attacker. He or she throws a jab to my throat, but I lean out of the way and step back. Except, I’m against a wall now. Fuck me. Well, I’m a smart one aren’t I?

 

The robed figure lands a sucker punch to my gut, knocking the wind out of me, making my knees cave. They throw a bag over my head and bind my arms behind my back. As I’m being dragged, probably out of the diner, I scream Dean’s name and when I finally hear him yell mine and Sam’s, it’s distant. The bag is ripped off my head and I’m faced with two people, a young man and woman. Sam is next to me. We exchange glances.

 

“Who are you? What do you want?” Sam asks.

 

“What you stole from us,” the man says, “The monster.” As if that clears anything up.

 

“The what?” Sam and I say simultaneously.

 

“Less a monster, more a god,” the woman says.

 

“A … wait, what are you talking about?” Sam asks.

 

“How’d you find our chapterhouse?” the man asks.

 

“My – my brother and I – we -we’re uh, our family was men of letters,” Sam explains haltingly.

 

The woman glances at her companion, “so was ours.” The man adds, “Kinda.”

 

“Kinda?” Sam asks.

 

The woman launches into the woeful tale of their great grandfather Diego Avila, who was a member of the Men of Letters. But apparently, he sorta went psycho and tried to summon a god from another dimmension to rewrite the earth. Because of, like, war trauma. Except, it didn’t go like he hoped. The god he summoned, _Yokoth_ , was less of a hate cleanser and more of a … murderer. A beast of flesh, that only cares about food and breeding.

 

The name _Yokoth_ stirs something in me. The tendril of power that has been awake since we found Sandy seizes up in my veins. _Yokoth_. A demon of her own kind. Not a literal demon, but worse. Brief flashes of images appear in my mind. A being of raw power, a pillar of blinding light, battling a slimy tentacle creature. The creature is naked. Ten tentacles, with the slimy green skin over a humanoid body. The body has six breasts. It’s eyes though, glow with a violet light. The two clash, meeting in battle. Somehow I know that the being of power is my father. There are others with him, his brothers and sisters. The _Ishvael_. Creatures of destruction. That is what Sandy is.

 

“So wait … you’re trying to tell me Sandy is a god … from another dimension,” Sam says skeptically.

 

“All she wants to do is eat,” the woman says. “And breed,” her companion adds.

 

“So why didn’t you kill it?” Sam demands.

 

“You don’t think we’ve tried?” the man says, “As far as we know, she can’t die.”

 

“So we have been keeping her locked up,” the woman adds, “Well, that is until you came along.”

 

“So you know, nice work on that one,” not helpful d-bag dude says. It’s not like we knew that.

 

“When we saw what you did. We knew that we had to get her back,” the woman says, “So … Marco slipped something into your food.” Marco must be the douche dude.

 

“You don’t say,” Sam says.

 

“We have been starving _Yokoth_ for decades, keeping her weak,” the woman says, “But if she gets food in her belly …” Marco doesn’t need to finish it, but he does anyways, “We’re all dead.”

 

“She can die,” I say quietly. They all give me a sharp look. “She’s what’s called an _Ishva_. They can die, but I don’t think … any of you could kill her. I don’t think it could even be done by an archangel.”

 

Sam looks at me, “Elvira … do you think … you … ?”

 

“I don’t know Sam,” I say, “It’s possible. My father has, but I’m only half Precursor and I don’t know how to use my powers.”

 

“Excuse me? What are you guys talking about? Killing _Yokoth_?” the girl asks.

 

I inhale sharply, “I’m kind of half-human, half-being-of-pure-power. My father, he’s fought the _Ishvael_. So … it’s possible … very slightly … that I might be able to kill her, or at least disable her. But … I don’t really know how to control my powers.”

 

“Or activate them,” Sam mutters.

 

“Hahaha, so … about that …” I say, wincing, “They’ve kind of been dormantly active since we found her … I just didn’t know why … until now ... and I didn’t wanna fuck with it and end up with a fallout zone.”

 

The woman looks at me hopefully, “You might be able to kill her?”

 

I look her dead in the eyes, “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s a very big might.”

 

“It’s still a might, though,” Marco says.

 

He sets about untying us. When I stand, I flex my hand muscles. The only way I’m going to be able to even disable _Yokoth_ is if I’m at the epicenter of my power. Nothing can distract me. I reach into myself, pulling on that thread of power until it spirals into a vast untapped well. My human skin shudders at the sheer _feeling_ of it. The tunnel seems endless. I follow Sam back towards the diner. With every step, the ground beneath my feet shudders minutely. Behind me, the two Men of Letters kids follow, giving me a wide berth. You’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind to not feel, sense, the power radiating off me. But I feel like a ticking time bomb. As of right now, I don’t really control the power, it controls me.

 

At the diner, Sam finds the waitress. She tells him that Dean went out to check on the boy, Buck. And that’s when they spot his body. But not Dean’s. There’s only one reason she’d keep him alive. The power inside shifts from something like a glittering golden well, to fire, hotter than the pits of hell. It takes everything in me not to surrender to it. A droplet of sweat slides down my face. My skin is glowing very faintly. Dean, she took Dean. To try and breed with him. To breed him.

 

“Samuel,” my voice rings with that same otherworldliness that it had when meeting with Calenmai, “We have to get to Dean and Yokoth. If we don’t, there will be a fallout zone and it’ll be … devastating.” Even those few words cost me. I can’t let my concentration slip.

 

Sam stares at me, a flicker of fear in his eyes, “Okay. Okay. Um … didn’t you guys say she tried to summon her mate. Well, she’s probably gonna try and do it again.”

 

They all exchange looks, “The chapterhouse.”

 

Sam goes to get the Impala, but it seems like she took it with her. So we pile into Marco’s car, a cheap Volvo of some sort. In the back seat, I lean forward, bracing my elbows against my knees and burying my face in my hands. Inside me, a molten hurricane rages and I’m at the eye of it. I breathe deeply, evenly. I have to leash this, otherwise everyone with me will be at stake. _I am the master. I am the master. Master of chaos, dissonance, cacophony, fallout. I am_. It doesn’t rule me. The storm falters, slows. I yank back on the power, imagining waves receding. It does. But barely. Little by little, I reign my power in until I’m holding it by a very fragile mental leash, but at least I’ve got a hold on it now and it isn’t all about containment.

 

We arrive at the chapterhouse, tumbling out of the car and racing to the manhole. Sam throws open the lid and jumps down. I hear him take off. I jump next. The landing would be enough to make my bones aches, but it doesn’t. Marco and the girl follow me. I run, following the sound of Sam’s footsteps. When we get there, Dean is already strapped to the table, some creepy tentacles draped all over him. Sam immediately shoots _Yokoth_. My power rears at the sight of her, but I can’t unleash it yet.

 

“She has the seal of Solomon,” the girl yells. No shit Sherlock.

 

The tentacles lash out at us and I barely miss being hit. I can’t attack her while she has the seal. It might break and then I really would be the boys’ only hope of saving their mom. Sam launches himself at _Yokoth_ , shoving her up against the altar. A tentacle slithers from her mouth and shoves him to the ground.

 

“You can’t kill me,” she howls.

 

She’s too distracted by Sam to notice that Dean has freed himself. Kind of. He rips the seal of Solomon off her neck and tosses it to the girl. Now. I release the reigns on my power and blasts out of me, a beam of raw energy right at her. Yokoth wails in agony as my power starts to melt her. I have to protect everyone else from it though. It takes all of my concentration to make sure the blast hits her, but doesn’t go through her. Behind me, I hear the girl chant out something. The rift begins to close. Yokoth slumps to the floor, her eyes glowing purple, but just beginning to fade. I can do this.

 

“No!” _Yokoth_ screams.

 

But the tentacles from above reach down and wrap around her, pulling her up into the other world. As soon as the rift is closed, my power gutters and flickers off. I collapse to my knees. And then I vomit all over the floor. My head is spinning, and aching. There’s a hollow drained feeling in my chest. I fall over entirely, and I roll onto my back away from the puke.

 

“Is she okay?” the girl asks.

 

“Um … I …don’t really know,” Sam mutters.

 

“Glad you could make it,” Dean says sarcastically.

 

“Elvira,” Sam says, and I can feel him kneel down next to me. I groan.

 

“Princess,” I hear Dean next to me, “That was pretty impressive.” He picks me up, and I’m limp as a ragdoll in his arms. “Sammy, she’s burning up.”

 

“I’m … fine …” I rasp.

 

“Yeah, right,” Dean mutters. And that’s the last thing I hear before I pass out.


	28. Vacation in a Third World Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo yo yo, I almost didn't post today because I'm like super tired and didn't go thru the effort, so here ya go, y'all are welcome. Just kidding, love you guys. PLS, do like the commenting and kudosing things cuz it motivates me. Your friendly neighborhood Ghost

**Chapter 28: Vacation in a Third World Universe**

 

I sleep like the dead until we pull up to the bunker. When we pull up, I sit bolt upright, my breath heaving through my lungs. Sam and Dean both crane their heads over their shoulders to look at me. I feel fine now, mostly. My stomach feels a little rocky and that hollow feeling sits uncomfortably under my ribs.

 

“You good, Elvira?” Dean asks, running his eyes over me.

 

“I’m … fine,” I rasp. I could seriously use some water.

 

“You sure?” Sam asks.

 

“Yeah,” I say softly, “I’m just drained. Like I said, using my powers … it makes me sick.”

 

“Yeah, about that … that was pretty intense,” Sam says.

 

“That wasn’t even a fraction,” I mumble.

 

“W – what?” Sam stutters.

 

“That wasn’t even a fraction of what I can do,” I say quietly, “But I can’t control it well enough for it to mean anything. I sent raw unfiltered energy at her, but I can do more than that. And I could have kept going. For hours maybe. But it shut off as soon as she was gone.”

 

“Hours?”

 

“Hours,” my voice sounds drained, “But I’m used to feeling the power, fully inside of me. It feels hollow, missing a part of it.”

 

“Um … Elvira,” Sam says, “Is there any – any way you can learn to control that?”

 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do, Sam!” my voice comes out harsher than I meant it to, much harsher, “You think I like this? Being a freak of nature and having super destructive powers that I have no idea how to handle? I don’t. You think I like the feeling of being burned up from the inside out? I don’t!” I get out of the car and slam the door. Then I head inside. The bunker is empty dark. I flip on the lights and head down the stairs. Sam and Dean follow a few seconds later. They set their shit down on the map table. I sit in one of the chairs.

 

“Well, we have the seal, right?” Sam says, holding it up, “Now all we need is an archangel, and we’re set.”

 

“Sure that sounds easy,” Dean grumbles.

 

Then the man steps from the shadows of the library, or sitting room, whatever you wanna call it. His hair is dark and combed neatly. No facial hair. Hazel eyes. And a very nice suit. Both boys instantly have their respective guns drawn and aimed right for him. I get the sense they don’t have the best of history.

 

“Wait,” he says, “I come in peace. And I brought you a gift.” And his accent is delightfully, English. He pulls out another man from the shadows. A man so bruised and bloody my heart absolutely goes out to him. He looks terrified. It takes me a moment, but I see that his mouth has been stitched shut and my heart just breaks.

 

“Wait a second, is that …” Sam starts.

 

“Gabriel?” Dean finishes.

 

“Wait – wait a second,” Sam says, “That’s not possible, we – he’s dead - saw him die.”

 

“Or did you?” the Englishman says.

 

“What’d you do to him?” Dean demands.

 

“Not me, Asmodeus,” the Englishman says, “The Prince was holding him prisoner until I liberated the poor man. And I understand you may need an archangel for a spell, perhaps. Well, what luck.”

 

“We need his grace,” Sam says.

 

Gabriel begins to panic screaming through his stitched mouth. It really hits me just how tortured he's probably been. Oh. My God. The Englishman calms him quickly. Then he pulls out a vial of glowing white light I know to be angel grace. He sets it on the table.

 

“Here,” he says, “Take that, and, uh …” He pulls a golden dagger out of his jacket, “The archangel blade.” He sets it on the table.

 

“Why would you … what’s the catch? What do you want?” Sam says.

 

“Protection,” the Englishman says, “From Asmodeus.”

 

“The one you’re working for,” Dean growls.

 

“Was … working for,” the Englishman says, “But when he finds out that I stole his prize milk cow, I imagine he’ll hunt me to the ends of the earth. So … this is the only safe place I know.”

 

Sam scoffs, “What? Did you think you were just gonna move in?”

 

“Dibs on the top bunk?” the Englishman replies cheekily.

 

“No,” Sam says at the same time Dean says, “Deal.”

 

“What?” Sam demands incredulously.

 

“I don’t what the hell’s going on here, but if this helps us get Mom back, helps us get Jack back, then sure,” Dean says darkly, “Then sure, whatever you want.”

 

Dean storms out of the room. I follow him. He goes straight to his bedroom where he starts throwing things in a bag. I lean up against the wall, shoving my hands deep in the pockets of my jacket. Dean doesn’t say anything as he walks around his room grabbing things. Weapons, ammo, a few first aid things. He knows I’m here though.

 

I can’t stay here. Not while Dean is off in apocalypse world, knowing him, he’d get himself killed in the first hour. I walk to my room. I pack a bag with several sets of clothes. Jeans, plaids, tanks, underwear. I grab a bunch of first aid stuff. I make sure my iPod is in there, along with my solar battery bank. Something I got just a week ago. Looks like it’ll come in handy. I sling my bag over my shoulder. Weapons won’t be necessary. I can’t shoot a gun for shit, at least not yet. An angel blade might be useful though. I jog to the armory and fling open the door. I open the chest with the boys’ spare angel blades and toss that in my pack too. Then I go to the library. When I get there, Sam and Dean are in the midst of an argument with the Englishman. A debate over who stays and who goes.

 

“Fine?” Sam says, the anger in his voice is palpable, “What? So you want Ketch to go, but not me?”

 

“I don’t care if he dies,” Dean argues, “Hell, I’m kinda rootin for it.”

 

“Still – you can’t –.” Sam starts.

 

“No, I have to. It takes something that’s been over there before to open up the right door,” Dean says, “And that’s either you or me. So I’m gonna go. And if something happens to me, if – if – if time runs out, then I need you to come and save me and save Mom and save whoever else, okay?”

 

“It’s safer if we go together,” Sam argues.

 

“There’s no such thing as safer over there, you know that,” Dean says, a little more gently, “I know you don’t like this, okay? I don’t expect you to. But this is the way it’s gonna be.” And Sam doesn’t look happy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s about to start crying.

 

“Hey, uh,” I cut in, “Hate to take away from the family drama here, but, uh, I’m coming too.”

 

“What?” Dean demands, “No, you’re not, Princess.”

 

I glare at him, “Look, if you get stuck over there and for some reason, god forbid, Sam can’t get the door open, I’m your best shot at getting back. And at least there, I can practice using my powers without worrying about blasting any states off the map. So, yes, I’m coming Dean, and you can’t stop me.”

 

Dean surveys me for a moment, “Fine, but you follow my lead.”

 

I wave my hand, “Whatever you say, Pretty boy.”

 

“Dean!” Sam says incredulously.

 

Dean looks at me, “If she wants to come, then I really can’t stop her. And she’s right. She’d be our best bet at getting back if somethin’ happened to you or me …”

 

Sam’s jaw sets with a tick. I know he’s mad. I know he’s worried. But I have to go. I might be the deciding factor of whether we win or lose this fight. And I’m not gonna sit at home twiddling my thumbs, knowing I could have helped. Plus, this teensy tiny part of me doesn’t like the idea of Dean going alone. Without me. Of him hurting, and dying.

 

Sam sets the things up for the spell and begins. It’s a short process and then the rift appears. Dean places his hand on his brother’s shoulder, then he and Ketch go through. I throw my arms around Sam, burying my face into him.

 

“I love you Sam,” I say, “You’re my brother too. Please, please don’t hate me for what I am.”

 

 

“Elvira, I could never hate you. It might have freaked me out at first, but I'm mostly just worried about you,,” Sam says, “Please ... be careful.”

 

He lets go of me and I walk towards the rift.

 

“Twice as careful,” I say, “Once for me, and once for Dean.” Then seriously, I add, “I’ll make sure he comes out of this alive Sam.”

 

“You too, Elvira,” Sam adds, with emphasis.

 

But I don’t respond to that. I can’t. Instead, I step through the rift. The sensation is nothing like using my powers, in fact, everything about if feels wrong. Like I’m running through barbed wire. I fall into a snowbank on my hands and knees. A hand reaches down to help me up. I’m pulled up to be face to face with Ketch.

 

“Arthur Ketch, British Men of Letters,” he says, “And you would be?”

 

I give him the cursory once over, “Elvira Castle. And you won’t know what I am so I ain’t gonna bother explaining it.”

 

“Hey,” Dean growls, “Don’t touch her. Don’t talk to her. You know what? Don’t even look at her Ketch.”

 

“Or what? You’ll shoot me?” he asks.

 

“What’d be he point?” Dean says, smirking, “You’d be a puddle by the time she was done with you.”

 

I smile sweetly at him, giving myself an air of innocence. Which, you know, is total bullshit. He cocks his head, his eyes raking up and down my for as if I’ve been given totally knew meaning. I wink at him, then walk over to Dean. I start scanning my bearings taking things in, that’s when I feel the tug in my gut of a very strong energy.

 

“Not to be a nag, but we’ve only got twenty-four hours-.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean grouses, “Just gimme a minute.”

 

“Before the rift closes,” Ketch finishes.

“Look, we just got spin-cycled through time and space, okay?” Dean says irritatedly, “And yes, this is different than my last drop by.” He’s been looking around, probably trying to orient himself, but he turns to face Ketch, “And what’s this ‘we’ crap, hmm? You came here to save yourself. So, go save yourself … somewhere else.”

 

“That way, Dean,” I say.

 

I’ve been feeling the pull of energies in this world. And there are two very strong ones. One of them is likely Jack. Ever since Yokoth, my internal sense for magical and powerful energies has been off the charts sensitive. I’m surprised it didn’t go off for Gabriel because he’s an archangel, but then … he was drained of his grace. I’ve been able to sense energies since I’ve been with the Winchesters, I realize. That’s why I went all haywire around Jack the first time we found him and how I knew he was out back. Dean starts off in the direction I told him.

 

“Well, actually, I thought I could help. Find the boy,” Ketch says, shoving his hands into his pockets, “And you’re mother. If she’s in danger, I owe her that.”

 

Dean looks at Ketch, “You know, if she sees you, she’ll probably kill you. Again.”

 

Ketch tilts his a little “Perhaps. But you don’t know where you are or what’s out there or even …” Dean glances down the direction I’ve pointed them, “You get the picture. Would having a little bit of back up, really be so bad?” Dean glances at me and I shrug. I don’t know him. I don’t give a flying fuck if he comes with us or not.

 

“Alright, then,” Dean says, he points the direction I pointed and looks at me, “That way?”

 

I nod, “I think.”

 

“Well, it’s our best bet,” Dean says.

 

And so we trek. Dean takes the lead and for some reason, Ketch falls into step beside me. The land is icy frozen and pretty inhospitable. I’m glad I wore my Docs. There’s no slipping in these babies and their treads. We go an hour with absolutely no talking. Then Ketch decides to be the chatty one.

 

“How do you know which way to go?” he asks me.

 

I shrug, “I just do.”

 

“Are you an angel? Another Nephilim, perhaps?” he asks.

 

“Are you interrogating me?” I ask, stepping over a fallen log.

 

“No, merely curious,” he says.

 

I snort, “Listen, buddy, what I am, is my business. Keep your nose out of it.”

 

“Does Dean know?” Ketch asks as we plow through some particularly thick and snow heavy foliage.

 

I debate not answering that, but really there will be no point, “Yes.”

 

“Do you know where we are?” he asks.

 

“No,” I say, “I just discovered that I have these powers and I’m still figuring them out. Now please, I’m trying to concentrate and you’re questions are starting to piss me the fuck off.” I jog forward to catch up with Dean.

 

He cuts me a glance and smile a little, offering me his hand. I’m shocked he’d do that with Ketch here, but then he glances behind him. Ketch has caught up with us. I take Dean’s hand as we round a corner and reach a river. I shift my pack more comfortably on my back. We reach a river, running through the snow. In the distance, I see a bridge. We pass a tree with a burned corpse tied to it. It contrasts sharply to the gray and white background. Lovely. Ketch seems to follow my line of thinking.

 

“Well, this is quite the vacation spot, isn’t it?” he comments, glancing at the blackened corpse.

 

“Yeah. If you had your heart set on mai tais,” Dean growls, “Well, sorry.”

 

Just then I feel a wave of energy. As it hits me, a group of military looking dudes escorting some prisoners begins to break the line of trees at the beginning of the bridge, thirty feet above us. I breathe Dean’s name. He looks up and directs us down. We hide in some nearby brush. Though, if anyone really looked, they’d totally see us.

 

We can hear them from here, as they stop in the middle of the bridge. They’re definitely angels, from the way they’re talking. The angels begin to remove the bags and smiting the humans one by one. Dean starts to whip out his weaponry, but Ketch stops him. Then, the angels remove the bag from the head of the last prisoner. A woman, with long red hair and brown eyes, pretty. Spitfire too, even worse than me. Hi five girlfriend.

 

“No,” Dean mutters, “Charlie …”

 

One of the angels stops another from smiting her. They begin talking about how she’s not the usual rebel rabble. She’s a high ranking official in the resistance, and she’s met Jack and Mary. The girl, Charlie, makes some sort of snarky remark. The angel grips her throat and then they teleport off the bridge. I only heard bits and pieces, usually when they raised their voices.

 

“We’ve gotta find her,” Dean shoots me a look, “”She’s seen my mom and Jack.”

 

I nod, “Better that we don’t rely on my powers.”

 

“My I ask why not?” Ketch asks.

 

“Well, you just did,” I point out, “And because … right now … my powers rely on sensing energy wavelengths. I can’t really do much more than that. And I’m following the strongest wavelengths. Both of which are in the same general direction on of them is probably Jack … the other …”

 

“Michael,” Dean clarifies.

 

We stand up and begin heading what we determine to be North. As we walk, I keep talking, explaining a little. Trying to figure out how we get from A to B.

 

“Quite possibly,” I say, “So we can track them part of the way using my powers, but really it might be better finding them the old fashioned way.”

 

“What exactly is your skillset, Ms. Castle?” Ketch asks.

 

I look at him, letting a wicked grin spread across my face, then I let my accent come out in full force, the elegant combo of Brit and French, “Absolute chaos, Mr. Ketch. Quite literally.”

 

“Faux accents? Really?” he asks.

 

“Actually, it’s a very real accent,” I say, “My step father was English. _Ma mère était très française_.”

 

“ _Intéressant, et je suppose que vous avez été élevé en Amérique_?” Ketch responds. Interesting, and I suppose you were raised in America?

 

“ _Tu parle français_?” I say, then switching to English, “That’s a neat trick.”

 

“So do you,” Ketch says.

 

“Again, my mother was French,” I say.

 

“You look it,” Ketch comments.

 

“Is that a compliment?” I ask.

 

“Of the highest form,” Ketch responds, “French girls are delightful.”

 

“Hey, would you two knock it off?” Dean demands, “We gotta pick up the pace.”

 

I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at Dean before jogging to catch up with him. I know he’s worried about that girl. I don’t know who she is, but I hope to god she’s not an old flame, cuz things will get awkward real quick. I mean, I’d tap out because Dean deserves happiness, and for about a dozen other reasons. Not the least of which, is that I’m a monster. And Dean deserves a chance at something real, not something of convenience and yada yada. And besides … I don’t even really want that … do I? I don’t know. Dangerous line of thinking. Let’s not do that.

 

“So … who is Charlie?” I say, quietly enough that Ketch who’s a good few yards behind us won’t hear.

 

Dean gives me a sidelong glance and smirks, but it’s kind false. There’s a grimness about it that makes me want to kiss him. “Why? Jealous?”

 

I snort, “As if.”

 

His mouth settles back into a grim line, “She was like a sister to me. And she died on my watch.”

 

“Oh,” I say quietly.

 

“And she likes girls,” Dean says, clarifying.

 

“Huh,” I say, “She seems … like a badass.”

 

Dean nods, “She is.”

 

Suddenly, Dean stops and turns around, “Hey, what’s the hold up?”

 

Ketch sidles out from behind a clump of trees and brush, “Oh, just practicing stealth. You know, the art of infiltrating a hostile and unfamiliar environment whilst remaining undetected.” He throws up his hands, “Hence, free. Hence, effective.” He gives Dean a grating look, “You seem to prefer the bull in the china shop technique.”

 

Dean storms over to him, “No, I prefer the ‘let’s find Charlie before the angels turn her inside out’ technique.”

 

“Remind me again why we’re risking everything to find this girl,” Ketch says, obviously less than enthused.

 

“Because she’s seen my Mom,” Dean points out, “She’s seen Jack. We need her. You heard Elvira, the tracking thing she’s doing is not exactly a science.”

 

Ketch glances at me before looking at Dean, “And you’re sure that’s what this is about? You’re sure it’s not … personal.”

 

Dean’s face into that mask of grim stone before he turns around, “We’re running out of time, let’s pick up the pace.” He stalks back towards me. We walk for a ways before Dean notices that Ketch, once again, isn’t behind us. Dean calls his name, stopping to look around.

 

“Come on!” Dean says angrily.

 

Too quickly, too quickly to stop, a grungy man jumps out behind us, cocks his gun, and shoots. The bullet ripples through the air and nails Dean in the shoulder. I scream Dean’s name. He’s hurt. Dean is hurt.

 

 


	29. Spite and Fury Actually Makes Great Fuel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, yo, yo. Whaddup my homies? Okay, never doing that again. I say now. But anyways, here's another chapter for y'all to swallow down. We're getting there and I'm working overtime to get this finished. Remember to comment, kudos, bookmark, etc. Lots of love, the friendly neighborhood ghost.

**Chapter 29: Spite and Fury Actually Makes Great Fuel**

 

The guy cocks his gun and aims it at me. He pulls the trigger, I react on pure instinct. Pulling for my power and raising my hand, the bullet melts mid air dripping into the snow covered earth with a hiss. Thinking that I’m, down for the count he launches himself at Dean. Dean fights back though. That little bit makes my head spin. Not too bad. But enough to throw me off. I take a deep breath to try and stabilize myself. It works. Sort of.

 

“Oh, you’re a strong one, the angels will pay double for you,” the man growls, “Most of the slaves is a might scrawny.” He zip ties Dean’s hands behind his back.

 

Hot rage boils through me. He shot Dean, like an animal. He shot him. My power strips through me, running my reason out of the room. Dean. He could have died. Died. And here I am, with all this power. The power runs from boiling to icy glittering rage. How dare he? How dare he try and take Dean from me. Dean is mine.

 

I pull at the well inside myself and yell, “Hey, Jackass.”

 

His head shoots up to look at me, “I shot you!”

 

I hold him in place with my power. I want him to feel it. His eyes widen in panic, anguish, rage. I don’t know what I’m doing, but the man cries in agony. I would have killed him by now, but he has information. Information on where to find the angels. And then I see Ketch, creeping up behind. He gives me a slow firm nod, right as he’s about to tackle the man.

 

I chuckle, “Bitch, you thought. Also, meet my friend, Ketch.”

 

Just then Ketch tackles the man to the ground. Ketch pins the man to the ground. He pulls out a knife and holds it to the man’s throat.

 

“Where were you going to take him,” Ketch grinds out, and when he doesn’t respond, he presses the blade in further, “You do want to live yes?”

 

I run over to Dean to help him to his feet. I glance back at Ketch. The man has flipped them over and has him pinned to the ground. I kick Dean his gun. He picks it up and fires a shot off. The man freezes, stands up, and raises both his hands. He turns around slowly.

 

“You heard him,” Dean says, “Where were you gonna take me?”

 

“You think I’m gonna tell you?” he says with a bite.

 

Dean aims, but I’m faster. I point at his knee, and he collapses, screaming. Good. I hope he feels it, the pain. Dean cuts me a glance and I shrug smoothly. Dean grabs the man by his shirt, shoving the gun into barrel of the gun into his throat.

 

“Let’s try that again,” he growls.

 

“The silo,” the man screams out.

 

“What silo?”

 

“P.O.W. camp,” the man explains, “Four, five hours from here. Follow the road.”

 

“Okay. Thanks,” Dean growls, then he knocks him out.

 

Dean holds his shoulder, but he straightens up, “Elvira …” I hum in response. “You good? You used your power there.”

 

“I’m fine,” I say, “A little light headed, but it’ll pass. We should get going, we don’t have a lot of time.”

 

“Let’s have a look at that wound, first,” Ketch says.

 

“I’m fine,” Dean growls, “Let’s get out of here.”

 

We find the road in about five minutes and then all there is, is to follow it Northward. We walk in silence for awhile, an hour. I walk shoulder to shoulder with Dean and I swear to god I will melt – melt – anything that so much as looks at him funny. My head has cleared up. It gets easier every time to use my power, and doing small things like that is much easier than the shit I pulled with Yokoth.

 

“That hunter may have been a bumpkin,” Ketch says from ahead of us a bit, “But his weaponry is cutting edge.” He holds up a belt of bullets, “These I don’t even recognize.”

 

“Yeah … that’s … Angel killing bullets,” Dean explains, pulling magazine out of his own gun to show his, “Might wanna hang onto those.” He shoves the magazine back into his gun. Then he cringes and let’s out a sound of pain.

 

“You don’t look good,” Ketch says.

 

“Yeah, well, you’re not my type either. I’m fine,” Dean grinds out.

 

“We’ll take a break,” Ketch says in an oddly gentle tone, “Your wound may be more serious than we thought.”

 

“Nah,” Dean insists, “He barely hit me. C’mon, we don’t have time for this.”

 

Ketch raises his hands in defeat, “Eh, by all means. What was it with you and this ‘earthly’ Charlie anyways? Old girlfriend? Let me guess, she broke your heart.”

 

“Dean!” I yell.

 

He’s stumbling towards the edge of the road and collapses. I run over to him, placing my hands on his chest. I feel his forehead. Ketch jogs over, obviously worried. Weird.

 

“He’s burning up,” I breathe.

 

“Let’s take a look at that wound, eh?” he says.

 

Dean, the stubborn bastard, tries to get up, “No. No, I’m fine. We gotta keep moving."

 

Ketch grabs his shirt, gives him an earnest look, and says, “Do shut up, huh?” He rips open Dean’s shirt. The bullet hole is festered and black. The look on Ketch’s face is unmistakably worried now. I take Dean’s hand.

 

“How’s it look Mom?” Dean asks sarcastically.

 

“Not great, but lucky for you I have all the ingredients here to fix it,” Ketch says, “Relatively.”

 

He starts pulling crap out of his backpack, vials, and bottles, and things. Then on a rock next to Dean, he begins making a paste, listing off the ingredients as he does so. As he sprinkles a few drops of whisky on it, Dean starts protesting.

 

“Why don’t you skip the birdseed, give me the flask,” he says.

 

“Your shortness of breath and delirium are symptoms of a poison the Men of Letters use to disable monsters in the field,” Ketch explains.

 

“Of course it is,” Dean mutters.

 

“My guess is,” Ketch continues, as he mixes the paste with a rock or he might be crushing some of the ingredients, “The bounty hunter used a similar toxin to coat his bullets to hobble his prey ... at first.”

 

“Whadya mean ‘at first’?” Dean asks.

 

“Well, if the antidote isn’t administered,” Ketch says, kneeling beside Dean, “Then the victim dies a particularly gruesome death.”

 

Dean scoffs, “You guys are such dicks.”

 

“Yes, well … guilty,” Ketch says, not even bothering to deny it, “Now then …” He has a fingerful of the paste, “This will smart.”

 

He leans forward and presses it into Dean’s bullet wound. Dean clutches my hand, nearly cutting off the goddamn circulation, but I don’t say anything. He grunts in pain, his breathing coming out in huffs. I use my free hand to rub his thigh in soothing rhythmic circles. Ketch mumbles words of encouragement as he slathers on more of his home remedy. Dean glances at me and I smile encouragingly. His eyes lock onto my face and I can see the pain in them. Every goddamn angel in this place is gonna fucking pay, if I have to tear heaven out by it’s roots I will.

 

  
“Right there we are,” he says, wiping his hands off in the snow to clean them.

 

Dean uses his free hand to pull his shirt and jacket back over his wound. Ketch gathers up his things and puts them away. And thankfully, Dean rests while he’s doing so. I wouldn’t put it past him to hop back on his feet and try to keep going. He’s such an idiot. I take my free hand and run it down the rough stubble of his cheek. He leans his face into it, so I hold my hand there. He looks at me and he sees me and he’s not afraid. My heartbeat kicks up a notch. His eyes scan my face.

 

“Elvira … I,” he says quietly, “Thank you … for coming … for trying to help save my mom. You’ve got enough to deal with, with your dad, and you came. You came through.”

 

I smile and then I say, very quietly, so quietly I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m saying it, “Dean, I will always come through for you.”

 

His eyes soften and I know he heard me. He takes my hand and pulls me into him. The kiss is gentle, soft, similar to the one we shared earlier, but more meaningful. There’s something behind this. It makes me nervous and at the same time draws me in. Dean brushes a strand of hair behind my ear with his good hand. Maybe he's delirious. Yeah, that's what I'll tell myself. Boy's delirious and has no idea what he's saying. Haha. 

 

“You’re too good for me,” he whispers.

 

I smile, “That’s where you’re wrong, Pretty Boy. I’m evil. Or I’m supposed to be anyway.”

 

“Yeah, you’re not very good at the whole ‘evil’ thing, Princess,” he says, “Now, c’mon, help me up.”

 

I roll my eyes and stand. I offer his good arm my hand, and when he grips it, I help him to his feet. He dusts himself off with his good arm and resituates his pack on his back. Ketch, who meandered a few yards off, probably to give us a moment of privacy. Dean says his name and he walks over to us. Ketch surveys us, his eyes lingering on our joined hands.

 

“Are you two a couple?” he asks.

 

I freeze. Dean glances at me, but my face betrays nothing. We’re two people who do things together and sleep together. But a couple implies feelings. And feelings can be used against you. And feelings can change. And I can’t have feelings. If I have feelings, they’ll only get turned around on me. I don’t have feelings. Do I? I glance at Dean and my heart falters? DO I? Oh no. Oh dear. This is … oh god. This is bad. I’m about to open my mouth to say no, we aren’t, but Dean beats me to it.

 

“We’re not,” Dean says, “More like friends with some seriously awesome benefits.” He grins roguishly.

 

I should be relieved. I should feel a weight lifted off my shoulders. So why does my chest ache the way it does? Why does my heart feel heavy? I blink and smile a similar smile and I wonder if he can tell that I don’t really mean it.

 

“Let’s get a move on,” Dean growls, releasing my hand. Then he stalks onward.

 

I feel empty, but I trail behind them. My rage from Dean being shot feels like it’s been drained from my body. I keep up a steady pace and every so often Dean glances over his shoulder to make sure I’m still there. Despite the face that my rage is gone, my power is still very much active. Every so often I feel the brush of energy against it letting me know when any angels are in our range. I take to letting them know when I feel something like that so we don’t get ambushed.

 

Dean, despite having his wound anti-poisoned, is still in pretty rough shape. He uses the trees for support and pretty much hobbles along. Part of me, a bigger part than I’m willing to admit, wants to run up to him and let him use me as a support. But that would be bad. I’ve let myself get too emotionally attached and I need to cool my jets. Ice them. Freeze them. Whatever.

 

We keep going until it’s dark. Until Dean collapses against a tree stump, calling out ‘okay’ like a tap out. Ketch and I both stop, on either side of him.

 

“This is absurd,” Ketch says, “You must rest.”

 

“Okay, look,” Dean wheezes out, gingerly tapping his wounded shoulder, “I’ll give you the anti-poison merit badge award, okay? … I do appreciate it, but we’re running out of time. So … how ‘bout you rest? I’m gonna keep going.” He staggers a few steps then falls flat on his face. I want to help him, but I keep my face impassive and stay where I am. “In five minutes,” Dean says, his voice muffled by his pack, that he fell on.

 

Ketch exchanges glances with me. I sit down on the stump next to do Dean.

 

“Good plan,” Ketch says, sitting on the stump across from him, “Perhaps we can use this moment to revisit the Charlie issue.”

 

Dean groans and rolls over, “Not gonna happen.”

 

“To your point, we’re running out of time. We don’t know where your mother and Jack are, and as Elvira said, her tracking method is potentially unreliable,” Ketch points out, “We don’t even know if we’ll find this Charlie. And a rescue may be impossible, and stupid. I propose we return home, regroup, reinforce ourselves. And then we may have a shot at saving very one..”

 

“Alright look, I’m gonna repeat myself,” Dean grunts, using his legs to shove himself up the stump, “Charlie’s not gonna give the angels what they want.”

 

“Your Charlie wouldn’t,” Ketch says pointedly.

 

“They’re gonna kill her, a hundred percent,” Dean says, his voice becoming more and more downtrodden with every word, “And I’m not-.” Dean falters, licks his lips, and looks away. This is hard for him, it’s genuinely hurting him. That he can’t just save Charlie.

 

“What?” Ketch asks, in an almost pleading way, “What’s the story you’re not telling me?”

 

Dean takes a deep breath, “Charlie was like family. She was a sister to me. She did more for me and Sam than I can even say. And she was …” His voice fades out with emotion, but when he starts talking again his tone is hard, “She was butchered, and we couldn’t get there in time. And I …” He inhales sharply and looks around, at anything but us, anything to distract him.

 

“You feel you failed her,” Ketch says baldly.

 

“I know I did,” Dean says. He looks out into the frozen landscape for a few moments, his eyes blank, his face drawn.

 

“That … I understand,” Ketch says.

 

“Alright, well, what about your story are you not telling me?” Dean asks, brusquely moving the conversation.

 

“Oh, I’ve had many failures,” Ketch says, his voice shaky, “Friends and colleagues who have died on my watch. The only difference is that I didn’t try to save them. “Duty” and all that … rubbish.”

 

“Well, you do suck,” Dean says darkly.

 

Geez, way to kick a downed man in the nuts. Ketch’s eyes find his lap. It falls silent. Ketch is far easier to read than Dean. I can see regret written in the lines of his face, disappointment in himself. Despite the brothers’ low opinion of the dude, I find myself actually liking him. Maybe I just lucked out and am meeting him after some serious character development. Maybe I’ll regret liking him, but hey, it’s my bad decision to decide.

 

“What the hell?” Ketch says, slapping his hands against his thighs and standing up, “Perhaps, rescuing this Charlie will wash some of the stain off my hands.” He extends a hand to Dean who gratefully accepts it and Ketch hauls him to his feet.

  
Dean smirks, “‘Impossible and stupid’ huh?” He bro-punches Ketch in the shoulder, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He turns and picks up his bag, “Come on.”

 

Ketch and I exchange glances. Then we follow Dean. There’s a lot less tension in the group now, at least between Ketch and Dean. As for Dean and I, well, that’s a thought for another day … or like never. We push onward, keeping mostly in silence. Occasionally, one of us will comment on the terrain. By the time we reach our destination, the sun has once again risen. The further we go, the better Dean looks, like the anti-poison goop Ketch used is finally starting to work.

 

“Silo,” Ketch comments from our position, a cliff less than a mile, overlooking the camp.

 

“No, he wasn’t kidding,” Dean says.

 

“Gratifying,” Ketch says less than enthusiastically, “Now what?”

 

Dean hands Ketch a gun, loaded with angel bullets. He’s about to hand one to me, but I wave it away. Time to utilize my powers, practice, try and get a handle on them. We creep down towards the silo which looks all but abandoned. The only thing to show it’s not are the militarized angels prowling the premises. Ketch, Dean, and I press ourselves along the edge of a building.

 

We peer around the corner as a door slams open and several pairs of boots crunching in the snow. The angels lead several prisoners. The head honcho starts giving some speech on how they’ll crush the resistance. Then they drag Charlie out and tie her to a post.

 

“For high crimes, the prisoner Charlie Bradbury, like all those before her, will be executed,” the angel projects. Another angel in a black hood and goggles comes out of a building bearing a wickedly curved blade. As the executioner nears Charlie, the lead angel says, “All hail Michael.”

 

Just then, Dean pops the pin from a grenade and tosses it into camp. Close enough to scatter the angels, far enough not to hurt Charlie. All hell, haha for lack of a better phrase, breaks loose. The angels immediately jump into action as Dean, Ketch, and I storm the camp. We bust in through the wire gate, Ketch and Dean shooting their angel bullets. And me? I pull on that warm thread of power in my gut and raise my hand.

 

Bullets fly back and forth, but nothing touches me. I don’t know what I’m expecting with that first angel. I pull on the power and feel it leash around the angel’s celestial energy so it’s like a wire between us. I feel the angel pull on it, almost disbelievingly. I yank. The angel stumbles forward falling to his knees. I keep pulling, but the angel has caught on. He pulls back. My body is taunt with effort. There’s a pounding in my ears and I can feel a dribble of warm blood slide out of my nose. I throw everything I have into pulling on that line. I know I’ve won when the power slides easily, too easily, away from the angel. It’s like watching a lightbulb implode, there’s a flash of light that his body seems to suck right back in. And then it’s over. I feel for his celestial energy, but it’s no more.

 

I use the back of my hand to wipe away the blood. My head is sorta fuzzy and I’m kinda seeing double. And I turn around to find Dean, but I’m faced with another angel. Reactively, I throw my power at him and begin pulling on that thread between us. He falls faster than the first angel. And by the time I’m done, I’m twice as dizzy and a little nauseous.

 

“Come on, Elvira,” Dean barks, “We gotta go! Now!”

 

He and Ketch and Charlie run past me. I stumble after them, forcing my legs to move. I keep up surprisingly well, mostly by latching my gaze to the horizon and just letting my legs numbly go. Dean has his arm around Charlie and is directing her as we cut into the woods. Better to stay off the main road right now. I focus on the sound of my own labored breathing. It gets easier, every time, to use my power, but my body still isn’t used to it.

 

As I trip over a fallen branch, I realize I need to heal faster. This stupid mortal body is slowing me down. Ahead of me, I hear Dean start the spiel on who we are, alternate universes, and yada yada. But it’s distant, like echoes in a tunnel. I see two, no make that three, Ketch’s fall into place beside me. His voice is long, stretched out, as he asks me if I’m okay. I am not okay. This mortal body isn’t made for this power I have boiling in blood. I shake my head and stumble and almost fall. But I catch myself on a tree.

 

I push onward, Ketch eyeing me with worried eyes, Dean preoccupied with Charlie. The longer we trek the more my body seems to stabilize. Slowly, the three Ketch’s become one and the nausea fades. We’ve had to be walking for a few hours.

 

“Okay, so to recap,” Charlie says, “There’s another world. A “better” world, with no Michael. And it has another me?”

 

“Well, had,” Dean corrects.

 

“And you were friend with her? Me? Her?” Charlie quips.

 

“Yes, very,” Dean responds exhaustedly.

 

“How very?” Charlie demands.

 

“Well, she was into chicks,” Dean shoots back.

 

“Oh,” Charlie says, “I like her.”

 

“Look, I know this is a lotta information, everything I’m telling you,” Dean cuts to the chase, “But we’re running out of time here and I need to know where the Nephilim is – Jack – and – and my mom’s with him, right?”

 

“Your mom?” Charlie demands, shocked.

 

“Yes, she’s from our world too,” Dean says.

 

“Last I heard, they were fighting somewhere in what remains of Dayton, Ohio, but I don’t …” Charlie trails off, then bursts out, “Wait, your mom?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says.

 

“Why would I believe any of this?” Charlie scoffs.

 

We slow down and come to stop.

 

“Because of that,” Dean says, pointing into the clearing.

 

The rift glows, a ribbon of energy cutting into this world. Wrong energy. I can feel the chaos rolling off it from the Between. Even though this method of opening rifts is relatively safe, it’s still not perfect. I can feel the Void power leaking out from behind it. One wrong move could split both of these realities in two. I stare uneasily at the rift. It flickers as the time limit draws near. I can feel the power starting to wane, seal over.

 

“Dean,” I say quietly, my voice cracking, “It’s fading.”

 

He looks back at me. For the first time, I think he notices the mess I am. My hair is disheveled, blood is smeared under my nose, and I know I’m looking pallid with prominent bags under my eyes. Sick, I look damn sick. Like a cancer patient in the beginning stages. Something flickers across his face that looks like worry, maybe guilt, maybe both.

 

“Elvira, what’s going on with you?” Dean asks.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, my voice hard. He doesn’t need to know that using my power is killing this body. And I don’t know how to fix it.

 

“Elvira,” his tone is all warning.

 

“Dean,” I say cuttingly, “The rift is closing. We can deal with this,” I gesture to my body, “Later.”

 

He gives me a curt, albeit reluctant, nod. He nods again, this time at the rift and looks back at all of us.

 

“Okay. This things gonna be closed any minute,” he says, “We need to get a go.”

 

Ketch exchanges looks with Charlie, then he says, “Dean, you need to go through. Bring back Sam, and your angel, and Gabriel, and the bloody Navy SEALS, whatever help you can get. But I should stay …”

 

“Wait, what?” Dean demands.

 

“If we’re going up against Michael, we need to be ready. We need to know what he’s up to and where your mother an Jack are,” Ketch says.

 

“I’m staying too,” Charlie puts in gently.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Dean barks, looking at them like they’re insane, “You got Michael and a billion angels on your ass.”

 

“Dude,” Charlie says defensively, “This is my home. My friends are here. And they’re in trouble. If you really do have a way to take down Michael, get back here and do it. Until then, this is my fight.”

 

“I don’t wanna lose ya again,” Dean confesses.

 

Charlie gives Dean a bittersweet smile, “That’s not your call.”

 

I can see in the set of the lines on Dean’s face that he doesn’t like it. Then I feel it. The waves of energy. Angels.

 

“Guys,” I say, but my voice comes out too weakly.

 

Ketch points out the rift is closing. Dean hands Charlie his gun, and they share a look.

 

I clear my throat, “Guys.” They all turn and look at me, “We’ve got incoming.” Then we hear the distinct flap of angels landing. Six or seven of them.

 

Ketch and I both look at Dean, and yell at the same time, “GO!”

 

Dean starts for the rift, but as he reaches it he looks back and sees me staring at him. I make a split second decision. I’m staying too. They need me here. And, at least here, I can practice my powers safely. And it’s not like Dean or Sam need me. No, I’m better off staying here. And if I die in the process, well, no great loss there. They lived this long without me, they'll continue to live. It'll be fine. Everything's fine. I'm fine.

 

“Elvira,” Dean shouts, “Come on!”

 

Some emotion burns in my chest. I run up to him and throw my arms around him, “Dean, I’m staying. They need me here.”

 

“Elvira,” he barks.

 

“No,” I say softly, staring at him, “I’m staying. You guy’s’ll be back. I need to figure out my powers where I won’t blow a city off the map. And – And it’s not like you two need me or anything.”

 

For a brief second, Dean looks almost hurt, “Elvira … Please …”

 

I shake my head, “Go.”

 

“Elvira,” Dean tries again. The phrase _friends with benefits_ rolls through my mind. And my chest aches in a way that almost has me doubling over. Tears prick my eyes.

 

“I said go you jackass,” I say, shoving him as the rift starts to ripple.

 

I come to a realization as I see the hurt and betrayal in his eyes as he falls into the rift, disappearing back into our reality. It hits me like a gunshot to the heart. The rift closes behind him with finality. A weight settles on my chest. It had to be done. I need space to figure things out and I can’t do that with Dean’s confusing as hell emotions. And now that I can finally see the light so to speak, face it at least. And … well, I don’t need him around while I sort through it. It hurts. My heart hurts. My feelings for Dean run far deeper than I thought and I really don’t know what to do with that. I take a deep breath and it comes out shaky.

 

Then I turn around to face the angels my friends are taking on by themselves. Time to do what I do best. Wreak fucking havoc.


	30. Things that Radiate Chaotic Energy feat. the Main Character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go kiddos!

**Chapter 30: Things that Radiate Chaotic Energy feat. the Main Character**

 

I turn all of my emotional turmoil into the chaotic energy that runs inside me. Ketch and Charlie aren’t doing a particularly great job at fighting the angels. Then again, I only gave them a couple minutes warning. I leash my power to the nearest angel and watch him implode. And a feeling of satisfaction blooms inside me. I like it. I like this. And I hate that I do.

 

I take that hatred and throw it into my power. I can feel blood dribble from my nose. My body is glowing an ethereal silver light, I can see it on the back of my hand as I latch onto another angel. Then I have an idea. I release the angel, then, throwing my power like a lasso, I take all the angels left, all four of them and I pull. My body vibrates with effort. My power doesn’t fade. It doesn’t waver. It is, I am, an unending well of energy. Chaotic energy.

 

I can feel the angels fighting back. But I throw all of me into this. Everything I am, everything I was. My head feels like it’s going to split in two, my chest is on fire, my limbs are numb. I pull and pull, diving deep into the power of Calenmai and as my fist clenches, so the angels fall. Implode into nothing. And then there’s nothing. I take a deep breath. Blood is pouring from my nose. My head spins.

 

“Elvira,” Ketch yells.

 

I can feel myself tumble to my knees and earth quakes as I touch down. Maybe … maybe the only way to use my power is to embrace it. I’ve spent so long being afraid of it, afraid of my heritage, afraid of my feelings … maybe I have to embrace them all. I take the pit of power inside me and I wreath myself in it. I embrace the power in veins, I love it, but most of all … I accept it. I feel something shift then. Blood stops flowing from my nose. And I push myself up on steady legs.

 

“I’m okay,” I say, starting towards them.

 

The agony that hits me is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I double over, clutching my chest. It feels like my skin is being melting off while I’m being sawn in half. A scream echoes through the clearing. I am screaming. My skin is glowing bright white. I don’t know how long it lasts, but it feels like an eternity. Charlie and Ketch back up, twin looks of fear on their faces. The earth shakes, like an earthquake, and it cracks beneath my feet. Then it stops, as suddenly as it started.

 

I’m standing there, over a crack, heaving for air. When I look up at Charlie and Ketch again, they’re staring at me in a mix of awe and terror. I clench my hands. Hands that now have that subtle, ethereal glow, like there are atom sized stars hung in my aura.

 

“I’m good,” I say softly to them.

 

“Your hair,” Charlie chokes out, “It’s silver … and … and your eyes …”

 

“Is it?” I say. I don’t doubt it. Even my voice has changed, just slightly. That accent I had before rolls from my lips in a quaint elegant way, but it’s not that. My voice has that same otherworldly ring to it as Calenmai’s, though nowhere near as noticeable.

 

“Are you sure you’re … alright?” Ketch asks, eyeing me doubtfully.

 

“Yes,” I say smoothly, “Though I’m pretty sure I could destroy you now with half a thought. But other than that, I’m fantastic.”

 

“Right,” Ketch nods slowly, “Well, to Dayton, then?”

 

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” I say, more comfortable in my own skin than I have been for awhile.

 

My internal radar is now at full capacity. I can definitely tell the difference between Michael and Jack now. Of course, after I need it. I reshoulder my pack. It’s going to take some getting used to. I don’t have like superhuman strength, or speed, or any of that. All of my power is internal, an energy more or less. I might be able to teleport, if I wanted to, but I’d rather practice that in very small distances before I actually give it a shot. As for travelling between worlds, well, that is something I’ll deal with later. One step at a time after all.

 

I lead the way, following the beacon of energy I know to be Jack. He’s nowhere near as powerful as I am, but he’s pretty much the most powerful thing here. Michael is a close second, but his power feels different. Less … chaotic. Where Jack’s power is a mess of swells and flares, Michael’s is vicious clean lines. Charlie and Ketch stay a healthy distance behind me, which is fine, but also kinda stings. Cuz I sorta saved their asses. If I was gonna go psycho on their asses, I woulda done it by now.

 

Then Charlie sidles up next to me, “So … Ketch says you’re NOT an angel.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you’re not?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yes, no, or yes, yes,” Charlie says.

 

“Yes, no,” I say, holding back a laugh.

 

“So what are you? Because you’d be really handy to have on the battlefield. Not that, like, I just wanna use you … for that I mean,” she starts rambling, “That was also really intense. I mean, the angels were just … dead. It was actually pretty rockin. And kinda hot.”

 

I lose it and start laughing, “Thanks, Charlie. And I’m literally chaotic energy.”

 

“Like … real chaotic energy?” she asks suspiciously.

 

“To make it like thirty times easier to understand, yes,” I say.

 

“What did you do before you were chaotic energy?” she asks.

 

I chuckle, “Stripped.”

 

I hear Ketch choke behind us. Charlie and I exchange glances and bust out laughing. Men. We lapse back into silence for a moment.

 

“Cool, for boys or girls?” she says, glancing at me.

 

I smirk, “Both.”

 

“Both?” she says, her voice cracking a little.

 

“Definitely both,” I say smiling.

 

“Oh,” she squeaks.

 

We go on in silence, walking for hours. When night falls, we take shelter in an abandoned house. I walk through the building, rifling through cupboards. I find a couple old cans of Chef Boyardee. They’re dented and the labels are peeling, but I’m pretty sure this shit don’t expire so it should be safe to eat. I take the cans back to the living room where Ketch and Charlie are set up for the night. As I’m walking back, I pass an old mirror, cracked and dirty.

 

I stop in front of it. Sure enough, my once brown hair falls in silver curls to my shoulders. I run my fingers through my curls. They feel the same, as soft as always. My eyes are the same olive green as ever, but now a ring of molten silver sits around my pupil. My face is the same except that I now have that same ethereal glow that Calenmai had, but so subtle you’d have to be looking for it. I was pretty before, but now there’s an otherworldly sort of beauty that hangs from me. I can see Calenmai in me now. The silver hair, my skin, the set of my cheekbones. Though I’ve accepted my power and myself by extension, I still hate Calenmai. The mirror cracks even further and shatters completely under my gaze. I stalk back into the living room.

 

“Grub’s up,” I say tossing Charlie and Ketch each a can of Chef Boyardee.

 

Ketch looks at me in disgust, “Are these even edible?”

 

I shrug, “Nine outta ten chance, Buster.”

 

“Eat up, Bond,” Charlie says, “This might be the last time we get to for awhile. Food’s not exactly a common resource.”

 

“So eat up and be grateful,” I say.

 

I sit next to Charlie on the floor. I peel back the lid of my can and fold it into a spoon. Cold beef raviolis. Yum. We eat in silence. The only sounds the scraping of metal on metal and the wind howling outside. When I’m through, I drop the lid in the can and set it off to the side. Hopefully we don’t get food poisoning. Hopefully. Ketch is organizing and cleaning our weapons and Charlie is still eating. I lean back against the wall behind me, closing my eyes.

 

Dean’s face flashes in my mind, specifically the betrayed look after I shoved him into the rift. Some small part of me that I stuff deep into the recesses of my brain feels guilty. But I have to remind myself that it was for the best. I need to sort through my feelings … on my own. Plus, friends with benefits makes not feeling guilty so much easier. So … ya know … I focus on that too.

 

“Do you think he’ll really come back?” Charlie whispers into the silence.

 

My eyes open, and I turn my head to look at her, “Dean?”

 

She nods.

 

“Yeah, as long as everything goes well with Gabriel,” I say, “He’ll be back. With help.”

 

“Are you sure?” she asks.

 

“Yes,” I say firmly, “Dean’s … Dean’s like that … he will always fight tooth and nail for people that matter to him. He would never in a million years betray someone he loves. Dean Winchester … he’s loyal … to a fault. It’s one of those beautiful flaws that people sometimes have.”

 

“Are you … no … never mind,” Charlie starts.

 

“What?” I demand.

 

“Nothing, it’s just … the way you’re talking, you sound like you’re … in love with him,” she says haltingly, almost as if waiting for me to explode and deny it vehemently. But honestly, I’m not sure if I can rightfully deny it anymore. But I also can’t rightfully accept it. I’m so confused. Why can’t I be a cat? Life would be so much simpler if I was just a cat.

 

Because of my complicated feelings, I choose to ignore it and say absolutely tonelessly, “I’m going to sleep. You or Ketch take first watch. Wake me at any sign of angels.”

 

I lay down, resting my head on my pack, and roll over to my side, away from Charlie. Feelings roil around in my chest, feelings I don’t know what to do with or how to deal with or any of that good stuff. I feel like I’m on the world’s loopiest rollercoaster and with every loopdyloop, my stomach gets a little queasier. Except instead of a real rollercoaster I’m riding The Winchester Emotional Express (TM). Ah, yes, my idea of a grand ole time. Just kidding. This fuckin sucks.

 

Memories of Dean flood my mind and only the good ones. Us laughing and riffing on each other. Waking up next to him in bed. The way his green eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled genuinely. Dinners. Dancing. Movies. His tongue slipping inside my mouth. Fuck me. Part of me wonders if he would ever want to touch me again now that you can see it on the outside. The whole not being entirely human thing. My heart aches even more at the thought. The last thing I see in my minds eye as I drift off to sleep is Dean, laughing as he leans into kiss me. I fall asleep feeling warm.

 

I’m woken with brisk hands by Ketch. He grabs my shoulder urgently and holds a finger to his lips, but he doesn’t need to tell me. I can feel energies of multiple angels. Charlie is pressed up against the wall next to the window, peering out. When she sees I’m awake, she gives me the homie nod.

 

How many? I mouth.

 

She holds up six fingers. I push myself to my feet and stretch. I crack my neck and then I stumble outside. One of the angels glances half-heartedly in my direction, but when he sees me, he immediately yells for the attention of companions. With half a thought, they’re crumpled to their knees, crying out in agony. I approach them, slowly, taking my time. I take the face of what looks to be the leader in in my hand, gently, almost seductively tilting his head up to look at me.

 

“You are going to stop looking for us,” I say softly, “If I catch another angel sniffing around for us, I will tear heaven out by its roots and slaughter every single angel in this world.” I don’t bother to stifle the yawn. “Capiche?”

 

“What?” the angel chokes out.

 

I grip his face harder, forcing him to look me in my eyes so that he can see I ain’t playin’, “Do you understand? Or do I need to spell it out for you?”

 

“Understand,” he manages to get out around the firm grip I have on his face.

 

The rest of his companions implode, leaving nothing but bodies. I release the angel from my grasp. He falls back onto his ass and stares at me in horror before teleporting away. I turn around and walk back towards the house, where Ketch and Charlie are waiting.

 

“Well, that certainly made things simple,” Ketch comments as I breeze past him to pick up my pack.

 

“You know, it might be easier for you to get used to it if you just imagine I’m God,” I say as I toss the bag over my shoulder.

 

He grins, “I’m currently imagining you in many ways right now.”

 

Behind him, Charlie nods her head almost dreamily. I’m beginning to think I throw off stripper vibes where most people are attracted to me. Except Sam. And Cas. Well, and any of the angels really. Because I’m technically an abomination. So maybe just like, humanity … minus Sam.

 

“You’ve got like a whole Xena Warrior Princess vibe,” Charlie says.

 

“Kinda funny,” I say, “I was Xena for Halloween when I was eighteen.”

 

“No way,” Charlie breathes.

 

I grin, “Oh, yeah. Then I was Wonder Woman. Then I was The Black Widow. And one Halloween at the strip club I was Princess Leia in her slave bikini. You would not believe how much I made in lap dances alone that night.”

 

“Holy cheeseballs,” Charlie mutters, “Did I make you in a DnD game?”

 

I laugh, “If only. C’mon, we’d better get a move on.”

 

We’re out of the house in minutes. I lead the way following my internal radar. The closer we get the stronger I feel it, and the more powerful I realize Jack is. More powerful than I thought. Much more. We don’t stop until long after nightfall when we sleep for a few hours. We’re up and walking again as the sun rises. At some point, we transition from freezing wasteland to warm and humid wasteland. I know we’re close from the pull I feel in my gut. To Jack.

 

I can see the camp now. A collection of buildings littered with busted up cars. A big sign that reads Singer Salvage Yard sits out front. Here, the air is warmer. There’s not a lick of snow in sight. We must be a sight stumbling into the camp. People stop and stare. We’re approached by a gruff looking middle-aged man with a gray beard and ball cap. He’s armed with a shotgun and definitely not hiding it.

 

“Uh, we come in peace,” I say.

 

He looks me up and down, “Like we’d trust the word of an angel.” He jerks his chin at Charlie and says, “I heard you got captured. How did you get away?”

 

Charlie steps forward to stand beside me, “They saved me. And she’s definitely not an angel. More like an angel killing warrior machine. She can take down a whole squad in seconds without breaking a sweat.”

 

He gives me a reappraising look, “Sounds handy.”

 

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” I say, “Now, can we put the gun away. Wouldn’t do shit to me anyways.”

 

The man reluctantly lowers his gun, “Name’s Bobby. Bobby Singer.”

 

“Elvira Castle,” I say, “This is Ketch.”

 

Ketch steps forward and extends his hand, “Arthur Ketch, at your service.”

 

Bobby looks at his hand, but doesn’t take it, “Couple a money accents between you two, huh?”

 

“I was born and raised in America,” I say, “Mother was full French and my father was English. Can’t say the same for him though. I’m pretty sure he’s an Englishman through and through.”

 

“You guys looking for a safe camp?” Bobby asks.

 

“Not exactly,” I respond, “We’re looking for someone. A couple a someones actually. A kid named Jack. And ah, Mary Winchester.” Sam and Dean never refer to her mother by her first name, but Dean told me it once.

 

“Winchester? Ya mean Mary Campbell?” Bobby asks.

 

I glance at Ketch and he nods.

 

“Yeah, that’s her,” I say.

  
“Who’s her?”

 

A blond woman, well built, in plaid and jeans I didn’t notice comes over to stand beside Bobby. Somehow I know it’s her. Dean has her facial structure, her nose, cheekbones. And though they’re not the same color, he has her eyes. I have a feeling that if she smiled, she’d have those same dumb smile crinkles Dean has. And I’ve seen her picture. But my mind keeps making Dean connections. So I’m just gonna go with it. She looks me up and down, distinctly unimpressed. Which kinda sucks. Cuz like, she’s his mom. But whatever. Also, I’m hella impressive … so how dare she? But also, whatever.

 

“You’re Mary Winchester?” I say, almost coldly.

 

She glances at Bobby before nodding.

 

“Elvira Castle, pure chaos, hunter, nutritionalist, and stripper extraordinaire, at your service,” I say sweeping into a bow and when I straighten up, “Oh, and Dean sends his regards.”

 

The effect is immediate. Her posture shifts and her face changes from unamused to … hungry. Her eyes scan my face looking for a lie. Her mouth sets into a grim line. I stuff one of my hands into a pocket, forcing a carefully too relaxed stance like I have all the answers in the world. And then I give her one of those half smiles.

 

“I think we have a lot to talk about,” she says, eyeing me with very clear outright suspicion.

 


	31. The Good, The Bad, and The Okay I Guess

**Chapter 31: The Good, The Bad, and The Okay I Guess**

 

Okay, so like, the thing I like about Mary is that she’s a total badass. And the thing that I don’t like is that she doesn’t really like me and I don’t know why. I’ve filled her in on everything that’s happened since I found the boys, ya know minus the obscene amounts of sexual tension and gratuitous sex scenes. She still doesn’t seem to trust me though. And always seems to hold me with a certain kind of distaste. Which is fine. It’s all good. Like whatever. Okay, not really. I wanted her to like me. To be fair though, I was kinda a jackass coming into it. But I’ve been here for a week, and she still hasn’t warmed up to me … even a little.

 

Jack though, he treats me like an older weed sister or wine mom. Maybe the cool vodka aunt. Once he discovered that we are similar in power strength (which took him about five minutes), he’s stuck to me like flies on shit. He remembers me from the five minutes we met before. He asks me a lot of questions about Sam and Dean, and my powers. Honestly, I think one of the reasons Mary isn’t thrilled about me is Jack’s newfound appreciation. Which I also don’t blame her for. They’ve been together for weeks and she’s probably been mom-ing him.

 

We’ve settled into a relatively simple routine. Get up, chat with Bobby and Mary about strategies. Spend time with Jack trying to help him with his powers which is total bull because I’m just as clueless as the baby where that’s concerned. But hey, gold star for effort. Am I right? I hang out with Ketch and Charlie. Do perimeter patrols. Eat. Sleep. But I haven’t seen any real action since I got here. And honestly, I’m kinda itching to liquefy some angels.

 

“We’ve got an intel mission,” Ketch says, pulling me out of my thoughts as he strides into the room I’m currently occupying. It’s small with a rickety bed and tattered blanket, but it’s better than nothing.

 

“Is that an invitation?” I say, sitting up, running a hand through my hair. Speak of the devil though.

 

“If you wish,” he responds.

 

“Cool,” I say, “I need to get out of here.”

 

He nods, “How are you … doing?”

 

I shrug, “Better than yesterday, but not as good as tomorrow, I guess.”

 

“Mary doesn’t hate you,” he says, stepping into the room more, “She hates me. With good reason, I admit. She just doesn’t trust you.”

 

“Or like me,” I spit out despite me trying to let it go.

 

He shrugs, “Maybe so, but does it really matter so much?”

 

“No,” I say, ya know, like a liar.

 

He nods at me and I get the distinct feeling he knows I’m a big fat liar. That he knows this is bothering me way more than it should. I stand up and throw on my jacket, pulling on my boots. Then I follow him outside. I share the building I’m in with Mary and a lovely woman about my age named Kalilah and her younger sister, Ophelia. Outside, Bobby and a young man are waiting. I raise my hand in greeting and Bobby does the same.

 

“Figured we’d see what you can do, girl,” Bobby says gruffly, “See if you live up to the fuss Charlie’s been throwin’.”

 

I nod, “Trust me, I do. But if this is an intel mission, well, I’m more likely to kill them than anything. I’m still working out the kinks.”

 

Bobby nods, “Not likely they’ll have much info, so if ya kill ‘em, I ain’t gonna shed a tear.”

 

I shrug, “Let’s hit it then.”

 

We take a busted up old jeep North for about two hours before Bobby pulls the car over into a bunch of brush. I spend the ride with head phones in my ears, busting out to Astrid S, Bebe Rexha, and Anne-Marie. Pretty much gearing myself up for the fight. I get out of the car shutting the door behind me. I let Bobby lead the way, ignoring the pull of my gut that lets me know that there are angels near. We trek the rest of the way on foot for another hour.

 

When we finally come upon the outpost, it’s pretty nondescript, an old broken down house. The roof sags in places, the door hangs crooked on its hinges, the windows are shattered. Definitely not the kind of place you'd expect angels to hole up. I keep my headphones in my ears, not that it matters. We mostly communicate through gestures, being as silent as possible. I pull on the power in my gut and it responds to me so quickly, so instantaneously. It’s gratifying, after trying so hard to get a hold of it. My heartbeat picks up, adrenaline from the oncoming fight kicking in.

 

Ketch breaks down the door into the building. We rush inside. Everyone else pulls their guns. Three angels, probably low rank to be stationed in this dump, immediately start rushing us. Before they can get more than a yard, I raise my hand and make a fist, the angels fall to their knees. I drop my hand to my side. Bobby turns around and starts talking to me. I pull my headphones out.

 

“What?” I say.

 

“How long can you can you keep ‘em like that, girl?” he says.

 

I shrug, “Probably as long as I’m awake. Maybe even asleep. I don’t know. I’m not even really sure as to the extent of my power. This is all pretty new.”

 

“How new?” he asks.

 

I shrug nonchalantly, “A few weeks?”

 

“Well, ya seem to have a pretty good reign on it,” Bobby comments.

 

“Well, until a week or so ago, it made me really sick to use my powers and it was really hard to control,”” I explain.

 

“What changed?” he asks.

 

“Honestly, I had no desire for these powers or the connections and responsibilities they bring with them,” I say, looking at the angels, their faces red and strained, “And then … I accepted it. And my body wasn’t exactly compatible.”

 

“How’d ya fix that one?” Bobby asks.

 

“I changed my body,” I say.

 

“How in living hell did ya do that?” he asks.

 

“Not really sure,” I say, “Though, I can probably do pretty much anything if I set my mind to it. I’m half Precursor.”

 

“I’ve been huntin’ for a long time, girl. Hunted demons, werewolves, hell now I’m huntin’ angels,” Bobby says, “But I ain’t ever heard of any ‘Precursors’.”

 

I grin wickedly and turn to look at the angels again, “Ask them. I’m sure they can tell you _all_ about what a Precursor is.”

 

I loose my power slightly on one of the angels and immediately he looks up at me, glaring, “You … are an … abomination.” Whoop. There it is. Honestly, I’m so beyond these self-righteous douches calling me an abomination. I wave my hand.

 

“Might wanna try a new insult, friend. Heard that,” I say, “Why don’t you tell my buddies here _exactly_ what I am and exactly how much hurt I can rain down on you.”

 

“She is the child of a Precursor, more powerful than God, Death, not of this universe or any,” the angel spits out, “We killed ours when we learned she was born. So why are you not dead?”

 

I smile, “Because, honey, I’m from Earth Prime.”

 

The fear on their faces is indescribable. And a small teensy part of me that I’m really not liking enjoys it, relishes it. I shove it deep down into the pits of myself along with those pesky feelings about a certain dude whose name rhymes with Bean and that weird wet dream I had about – ya know, never mind. Not going down that road.

 

“Do y’all wanna explain what an Earth Prime is?” Bobby asks, looking between the angel and myself.

 

“To dumb it down, first Earth,” I say, “Multiple universes, multiple Earths. First one was created by Precursors. Makes me much more powerful than if I was a me born from some other universe.”

 

“Ya ain’t gonna do nothing to our universe are ya? Or theirs?” Bobby gives me a side eye.

 

“If I wanted to, don’t you think I woulda done it by now?” I say, “I certainly wouldn’t be helping ya fish it out of the crapper.”

 

“Fair point,” Bobby grouses. He turns to the angel, and growls out, “Where’s Michael?”

 

The angel spits at his feet, “Go to hell.”

 

“No thanks,” Bobby shoots back, “A little hot there for my taste.”

 

I take my hand and clench my fist. The angels buckle over in pain, screaming out so loudly that our ears start to ring. Their language. They’re screaming in their own language. I feel the incoming energy of a dozen, maybe more angels. I twist my hand and the angels we’re holding hostage implode. Everyone looks at me.

 

“We’ve got incoming!” I say, “They were calling for help! A dozen, maybe more.”

 

Immediately, everyone goes into overdrive. But I go still. I reach inside myself, deep deep into the wells of my power. I’ve never taken on so many before. Everyone rushes around me like bees in a hive, but I am still. I am searching, pulling, wreathing my power around me. I glow, I fucking glow with power, like my skin is made of moonlight. I hear the telltale flaps of angels landing outside.

 

“Open the door,” my voice rings with power, “Stay inside.”

 

Ketch throws open the door, his arm braaced over his eyes against me. I walk out it. I can feel the earth tremble beneath my feet and the winds kick up in my wake. I’ve never taken on so many angels before. I don’t know if I can take them all on using the targeted power I’ve been using recently, but I can take them out with an explosion of power. I walk right into their midst. None of them move, but all of them watch me. Then I release. Like a bomb. I watch all the angels go out, one by one, but it happens in an instant. The entire surrounding area is demolished. One angel, one is all I left alive. Scared and trembling in the epicenter of it all. I walk up to him, my footing sure and slow. I take his face in my hand and make him look up at me.

 

“I have a message … for Michael,” I say quietly, “These people are under my protection. If he wants them, he’s gonna have to go through me.” I drop his face and hiss, “Go.”

 

And he’s gone. I feel all the tension leave my body. There’s this gaping hole in my chest from where my stores of power were. Maybe it wasn’t my brightest move to blow it all, but it sends a message, huh? It gives us time. And time is money. And money is power. So by the laws of, like, chain of custody time is power. And I have bought us time. And thereby power. I’m confusing myself.

 

“Let’s go back,” I say, “I pretty much blew out all my energy in a bomb and I’m not so good with like weapons and shit. Anyways, I’d rather not be here.”

 

Bobby comes up to stand beside me, surveying the wreckage, “Whatever you want girl. Hell, I’d get ya the goddamn moon wrapped up all pretty like if ya keep killin’ angels like that.” And he smiles at me.

 

I smile back at him before popping my headphones back in. The walk back to the car is uneventful. The drive back, the same. When we arrive Jack, Mary, and Charlie are all waiting in the makeshift headquarters. There are other people too whose names I don’t know. I plop down in one of the chairs at the table. Jack comes and sits beside me and Ketch sits on my other side. Bobby and Mary sit at either head of the table as the de facto leaders. Mary leans forward, her hands clasped, elbows resting on the table. everyone looks grim the gray-ish light, and sick in the yellow lamps. Even me.

 

“How’d it go?” Mary asks.

 

“Well, Charlie ain’t lyin’ when she says this girl can kill angels by the dozen,” Bobby says, scratching his beard, “Took out a whole squad of them in one go.”

 

Mary looks at me, “Did my sons know about all this?”

 

I have a bad feeling about where this is headed, but, like a jackass, I dive in anyways. I shrug, “Kind of.”

 

She narrows her eyes at me, “What does that mean?”

 

“It means they kind of knew about it,” I say, “They weren’t entirely dialed into the 411 because I wasn’t entirely dialed into the 411.”

 

“Were you keeping things from them?” she demands.

 

“Sometimes,” I say flatly.

 

“Why would you hide things from them if you’re such a good Samaritan?” she asks.

 

“I never claimed to be a good Samaritan, hun,” I bite out, “I’m just a stripper with good genes and a degree in bullshit.”

 

“You know what?” she stands up, bracing her arms on the table, “You keep talking. Digging yourself a fucking hole. Yeah, we get it, you’re a slut. Yeah, we get it you’re powerful. Yeah, we get it, you’re a liar. And you don’t care about anybody but yourself!”

 

I stand up. The rage is consuming. I thought I was drained after blowing out those angels, but it turns out I still got some juice in me after all. Which kind of scares me. Just how much power do I actually have? I feel it boiling inside me. It may no longer threaten to bust out, but it still pulls at me. She barely knows me. She has absolutely no right to judge me like this. Most of it, I can brush away. But the only caring about myself, that’s … it’s … I force myself to take a deep breath. Before I bust up and ruin our little get together. Like the freak I am. My power gutters a little at that.

 

“Why don’t we all-,” Ketch starts.

 

“Shut up,” I cut him off, and glance at him before turning my attention back to Mary. When I open my mouth, my voice isn’t cold, but dead, “If I only cared about myself, I wouldn’t be here. And I certainly wouldn’t be helping these people fight their war.” I kick my chair back and walk out of the room, but I can’t help looking back, “Don’t ever call me a slut again.”

 

I leave the building and walk. Walk out of the camp. I don’t go far, just out enough to get some space. I find an old piece of wood to sit on. My chest aches, my heart is heavy. I’m so tired of it all. I know the only reason Bobby puts up with me is because I can reap angels by the score. Ketch and Charlie might like me, but maybe they don’t see me for what I really am. Maybe Mary is right. Maybe nobody should trust me. Maybe it’s in my genes, the whole being evil thing. Sam and Dean, if they could see me now, would they want to kill me? My stomach twists at the thought. An image of Dean’s eyes hard with hatred cuts through my mind. Then I’m crying. Of fucking course. Because I might have power, but I’m as weak as it gets. I bury my face in my hands. I need to get a hold of myself.

 

“Elvira?” I look up sharply to see Charlie standing a little bit behind me.

 

“What?” it comes out harsher than I intended.

 

“I just wanted to check on you, see if you were doing alright,” she says shrugging, “Mary was kind of … hard on you.”

 

I shrug, “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

 

She sits beside me, “Y’know you don’t have to pretend to be alright with it. She’s been a real walnut where you’re concerned. And I know you l- you really care about that Dean dude. And she’s his mom and all.”

 

“I’m just … I’m trying my best,” I say quietly. And that’s all she’s getting out of me. She knows it too.

 

“I know we don’t really know each other,” she says, “But you can talk to me, ya know. If you need to.”

 

“Thanks Charlie,” my voice is dry.

 

She stands up and walks away, back to the camp. I cry. I weep. Do the whole being sad thing which is really cramping my style. But whatever. I stay there for awhile longer before heading back to my room. Mary is sitting at the table in the main room when I get back. I hope she can't tell I've ben crying. That would really blow me. Her eyes scan my face and she opens her mouth to say something, but I duck out before she can twist the knife. I shut my door as softly as possible, yank off my boots, and tumble into bed.

 

Y’know, time is money. Money is power. Yada yada yada. But you know what all three of those have in common. They’re lonely. Power is lonely. I fall asleep feeling emptier than I have in awhile. 


	32. E is for Emotional Reunions (and Elephant in the room)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friends, I am back. You might be wondering where the fuck I disappeared to. Or y'all might not give a single fuck. Either way. Here's the god's honest truth. I got a new job. As a cook in a restaurant. And so that's where the fuck I disappeared to. Well, don't worry your little butts, because I plan to finish this bitch. Till next time kids.
> 
> XO Ghost

**Chapter 32: E is for Emotional Reunions (and Elephant in the room)**

 

Weeks have passed with no sign of Dean or Sam. And I’ve tried getting to them. Believe me, I’ve tried jumping back into their world with no luck. It’s the one part of my power I’m struggling to master. Or even, like, start. Maybe for good reason. Either way, it’s annoying. I try not to think of Dean too much though, it only makes me ache in a way I’m pretty sure I should ignore. But I can’t.

 

So I focus on my power. Each day that I practice with it, I gain more control, more finesse. I find new ways to use it, and new things I can do. A lot of the time, Jack and I practice together. We become a team. Bouncing off each other’s  energies. The kid is powerful. He has no idea how much power he has squirreled away. But then, neither do I really. I’ve been practicing a lot with distributing my power and a lot of it has involved tunneling into my well of power. And it just seems endless. And I don’t know how to feel about that. On the one hand, awesome. I’m an all powerful superhuman. On the other, what happens if I were to just like go boom. Yeah. Not so good.

 

Today is no different than our usual days. Except Mary, Jack, and I are in an outpost, doing some human rescuing. This is the last day we’re out here before heading back to base camp. Jack and I have been just outside the camp since daybreak, playing. There’s something about him that’s so innocent and heartwarming. And he doesn’t look at me like I’m a monster. Or a goddess. And it’s gratifying. Makes me feel normal. And I know he feels the same. When we’re not practicing, we’re talking. About life. About the universe. About his dad. About mine. About movies. Music. He likes my iPod. Which I am like a proud mama bird where that’s concerned. He knows all the words to my favorite songs and I can’t help but crow with pride. He’s a good kid.

 

It’s approaching afternoon when I sense it. The feeling of being watched. Jack and I are sitting cross-legged opposite each other, eyes closed, tunneling into our powers. Trying to find the molten cores. I open my eyes. The afternoon sun is nearly blinding, we’ve had our eyes closed so long. And then I see him, looking like some sort of dream. Dean standing at the edge of the clearing. His hands shoved deep in his pockets leaning against a tree. Mary is beside him. My breath freezes in my chest.

 

I launch to my feet and run towards him. I can’t help but see Mary go on the defensive. The subtle shift of her body language. But none of that matters. Dean is here. He doesn’t move. I throw myself at him and he pulls me into his arms. And that aching hollow part of my chest fills in a little. He holds me there. His face buried in my hair, mine pressed into the curve of his neck. He smells so fucking good. Like leather, and gunpowder, and his own musk. I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming. He only releases me to hold me out at arms length and inspect me a little better. Before I know it, I’m crying. And he’s looking at me with those damned eyes of his. Eyes that look more broken than when I last saw him.

 

“If you ever,” he growls, “ _ Ever _ pull the bullshit you pulled at the rift, I will …”

 

I choke on a sob, tears are streaming down my face, but a smile breaks out, “You’ll what Dean?”

 

“I don’t know, Princess,” he says, “I’ll figure something out.”

 

I laugh a little and he pulls me into his arms again. And I just don’t ever want him to stop. All those pesky feelings I’ve been doing so well at ignoring come flooding back. He keeps me in his arms until his mom clears her throat. Even when he releases me again, it’s reluctantly. I turn to face her. Her face is haggard and worn down. Like she’s just received the worst news of her life. That’s when it hits me. Like being kicked in the pelvis. I look up at Dean.

 

“Where’s Sam?”

 

“He – I tried,” Dean starts, already choking up.

 

“No,” I say quietly, “No, there’s been a mistake. Sam’s not dead. He can’t be. He’s Sam Winchester. He doesn’t just  _ die. _ ”

 

“Elvira …” Mary says quietly.

 

“Don’t you dare Elvira me,” I say, my voice filled with anger, “You – you said I didn’t care about anything but myself.  But I – I -.” I choke on a sob. I look up at Dean. He’s crying too. And I want to be the strong one. I want for him to be able to lean on me. But I can’t here. I just can’t. I’m too fucking weak. I hate myself. If I had gone back with Dean, Sam would still be alive. But I’m selfish and a coward.

 

“Sam is dead?” Jack’s voice quavers heartrendingly. 

 

“Jack … Sam …” Dean starts, he takes a deep breath, “Cas is in camp. He’s looking for you.”

 

Jack nods and heads back towards camp. His shoulders are stooped. Mary looks between us. Dean is looking at me like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders and it’s about to come crashing down. And I’m just trying to maintain a grip on my sanity. One more thing and I’m calling it quits. Launching myself into the sun because I must be cursed. Sam is my brother. Sam is family. He can’t just be … no.

 

“I’m gonna give you guys some time to talk,” she says quietly. She follows Jack back towards the camp.

 

Once she’s gone, it’s one look. I look back at Dean and the tears come harder until I’m a sobbing mess. He grabs me and pulls me in. The kiss is messy and hard, full of need and anger and sorrow. This isn’t soft and sweet. This is release. He pulls me tight to his body. And I melt into him. His fingers thread through my now silver curls. His mouth latched onto my neck and a moan escapes my lips so soft and quiet. He comes up for air and presses his lips to the shell of my ear.

 

“Elvira,” he whispers gutturally, “Please, just don’t ever do what you did again. Just don’t – please. If you were dead when I got here, I woulda lost it. You’re -.”

 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

 

He kisses me again. Hard. His teeth occasionally grazing my lower lip, with that tantalizing pain pleasure sensation. I moan into his mouth. His tongue explores the inside of my mouth. The only things keeping me grounded are his hands, one at the small of my back, the other at the base of my neck. When he slips his hand under my shirt, I don’t stop him. Have no desire to if I’m being honest. His hand slips into my bra where he grabs a fistful of my breast. He groans in a way that makes me want to hold him down and just fuck him all day long. He pushes me up against the tree in a maneuver that has me reeling.

 

His hands go for the zipper of my pants. I don’t stop him from doing that either. I probably should given that we’re pretty much in public and that this isn’t the healthiest way to deal with loss. But am I gonna pass up the opportunity to have him? Am I? Haha, no. Does that make me a selfish prick? Well, I can’t say that I wasn’t always one. With one hand pinning me to the tree, he slips the other down my pants into the waistband of my panties. His fingers trace my folds and I shudder. I know he’s toying with me.

 

“Dean,” I whisper in a way that sounds an awful lot like begging.

 

“No,” he says roughly, “I had to deal with you pushing me into the rift. You’re gonna let me play.”

 

I huff, but don’t argue. He slips a single digit between my folds, running up and down my slit, brushing my clit, then my entrance. My first instinct is to arch my back, but his hand has me effectively held down. Little whimpers leave my mouth from time to time. Dean watches me like a cat, his eyes eating up every detail. A part of me knows he’s just needing a distraction. But I’m oddly okay with that.

 

He yanks my pants down to my knees in one motion. The sudden cool air across my lady parts makes me flinch. But Dean. Oh god. He gets down on his knees. His hand spreads my legs and when he tastes me, I moan. His tongue swipes across my clit before he sucks gently and then grazes me with his teeth. My fingers thread through his hair as he worships me. Right as I start to feel that build up of sweet sweet pressure, he stops. He stands up and unbuckles his belt. He looks at me, his eyes raking across my flushed face down to my exposed bottom half. He takes my hand and guides it to the bulge in his jeans. I run my hand over his clothed length. And he groans through biting his lip.

 

“Do you feel how fucking hard you make me?” he asks, his voice husky, “God, you’re so fucking beautiful. I couldn’t get you out of my head the last few weeks. Do you like that? Do you like that whenever I laid down in my bed, I’d think of you naked there with me?” He pushes my hand away and pulls his pants down to his knees. He picks me up pins me against the tree. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he sheathes himself inside me. As he lowers me onto his length, he keeps talking. “Do you like that, Princess? Do you like that I’ve thought long and hard about how I would take you if I ever saw you again?” I moan as he fills me to the hilt. He pulls out and begins again. Slowly, so slowly, sliding me onto his shaft. My legs are wrapped around his waist. “Do you? Sometimes, I’d dream about you.” 

 

He slams in hard and it takes everything in me not to scream his name. He does it again. I bite my lip. “I’d dream about you. Sometimes, it would be doing something like this.” He slams into me  and I moan through the lip biting. I close my eyes, relishing every moment. “Sometimes it would be us, driving in the Impala, listening to music.” He slides in and out slowly again, setting a pace that makes me melt. “Sometimes, it would just be us living our daily lives in the bunker.” His breathing is heavy as he holds me there. And I’m so close to splitting apart. I know he is too. I can feel it corded in the tension of his muscles. “Look at me,” he whispers. I look at him. His eyes are locked on mine. He pulls almost all the way out and when he slams back into me, I shatter. My whole body feels like it’s vibrating. He spills himself inside me. “I need you, Princess. I need you.” He buries his face in my neck. His breathing still hard as we both come down from that. After a moment, he pulls out and lowers me from the tree.

 

I pull my pants up, zipping my zipper, his words still ringing in my ears. Dean does the same. He looks me up and down, straightens my slightly askew t-shirt. I do the same for him. I don’t know what to say to him. His hand catches mine and he pulls me into his arms. He presses his forehead to mine. 

 

“I meant it Elvira,” he says quietly.

 

“Dean,” I say, “I – I’m a monster.” He starts to open his mouth, but I hush him, “I’m a monster with a human heart and soul. And until the day that heart stops beating, I will always be there if you need me. I won’t always make the right decision, but I will always fight for you and ours.”

 

He kisses me again, sweetly. He seems more settled. We both sit down and he gives me the low down on everything that’s happened since he left. From working with Rowena, to trapping Lucifer, all the way up to Sam’s gruesome death in tunnel. I can’t help but think that if I had been there, I coulda stopped it somehow. Even though I don’t know if my power works on physical beings, not beings based on energy. I could have done something. I would have figured something out. Even if it killed me.

 

“What about you Princess?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts, “What’s been keeping you busy? And I, uh, dig the new look.” He gestures to my face.

 

“Courtesy of Calenmai’s blood,” I say, “The reason I wasn’t able to access my powers is because, well, my human body wasn’t exactly compatible. And I was rejecting it because … well … I didn’t have the highest opinion of that part of myself. But at some point, I just accepted it. And then it came as easily as breathing. I remade my body so that it wouldn’t threaten to kill me every time I so much as sneezed with my power. And now, well, every day I learn something new.”

 

He’s silent for awhile, “Can Calenmai still find you?”

 

I look at him, “Honestly, I don’t know. I – I’ve been considering … leaving …”

 

“No,” Dean barks, “No, we are safer and stronger together. As a family. If he comes, then he comes and we deal with it. But maybe he’ll just never find you. And maybe we’ll catch a fuckin’ break.”  _ And maybe the earth goes around the sun _ .

 

“Maybe,” I say, but even I can tell it’s halfhearted. This isn’t exactly a road I’m ready to go down yet. I kinda want him to let it go, but I’m not sure if he will. 

 

“I want to get Sam’s body, give him a proper burial,” he says.

 

“We’ll go together,” I say.

 

At first, I think he’s gonna tell me no. I can see the way his body tenses up. I’m prepared to fight him on this though. Sam meant the world to me. We had our differences occasionally, but I know he would have always been there for me. Dean’s shoulders drop a little and he looks at me.

 

“Thanks Princess,” is all he says. 

 

“We should go back to camp,” I say.

 

He nods and pushes himself to his feet. He offers me his hand. I take it and he pulls me up. We walk back to the camp hand in hand. He’s left his bags in the little building his mom and I are sleeping in. Together, we head there to get them. No one talks to us, but I can feel them watching. They all know me from my weeks here. And the stories of what I’ve done to the angels. But Dean’s a stranger. We pass Castiel and Jack who seem to be in a little bit of a heated argument, but I don’t pay them too much attention. That’s something I can talk to Jack about later. One of the long time people, I think his name is Ray, is seated in the center of camp, keeping an eye on things. We nod at each other as I pass.

 

When we get to the cabin, his mom is waiting for us. I know she can tell we, ya know, did the dirty. I can tell by the way her eyes drag from Dean to myself and back to Dean in surprise. Dean rinses his hands in a bucket of rainwater and splashes some on his face. I hang politely back, waiting for him to say something to his mom or giving them a little space to talk it out. Dean hefts his bag over his shoulder.

 

“We need to go back,” Dean says to his mother, “Get his body.”

 

Dean starts walking. I would do anything to get Sam’s body back, he would to. We both exchange grim nods. When he reaches me, we walk shoulder to shoulder into the camp. Just then, a bell starts to jingle. The bell alerting the camp to angels. Since I’ve been here, it hasn’t gone off once. Probably more due to my threat than anything else.

 

There’s no need to start tunneling into my power. I’ve been doing it since this morning. Inside myself, I’m already surrounded by it and it’s ready to stir at my command. Dean looks at me, the faint glow my skin has taken on. Cas, Jack, and Mary meet us in the middle of camp. Cas looks sharply at me, a disgusted look on his face. Well, buddy, right back at ya. Jack has seen me use my powers before, but Mary hasn’t. She stares at me like … well, like I’m another monster to be killed. A threat to neutralize. I don’t miss the subtle step closer to Dean that she takes.

 

Then Sam walks into camp. Whole. Intact. Distinctly, not dead. My jaw drops. Beside me, I hear Jack whisper  _ Sam  _ with such joy. He’s covered in blood, like just escaped a Saw movie, covered in blood. Like a shit ton of blood. Like, he  _ really _ shouldn’t be alive covered in blood. He smiles weakly at everyone and by the set of his face, I know somethings wrong. Suspicion confirmed when an angel steps out of the shadows behind him. 

 

There’s no way this angel could be anyone other than Lucifer. His face, his true face, is so horrible, so grotesque. Far far worse than Asmodeus. This is true evil, so corrupt and so twisted. My first instinct is to run, hide. He’s the kind of being that kills just to kill, tortures just to watch someone scream. I swallow down my fear. Sam’s face drops and I can tell he’s ashamed of himself. He has nothing to be ashamed of. At all. 

 

A smile spreads across Lucifer’s face. And, you know in like TV shows and movies, that villain who just smiles and you’re like insta-creeped out. He’s got one of those smiles. Lucifer looks past Sam, right at Jack. I look at Jack. It hasn’t really clicked until right now that Lucifer is Jack’s father. Jack is staring back at him. And I know … I know how it goes … meeting your evil megalomaniac father dude. 

 

“Hello son,” is all Lucifer says.


	33. Dick Measuring Contests Are Surprisingly Easy If You Don’t Have a Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darkness my old friend. I don't actually know the words to that song. But anyways. Next chapter. I'm working really hard for the finish line. I might have some more time on my hands now because uh ... I got laid off. I live in a really tiny tourist town that basically turns into a ghost town during the winter. SO yeah, time to J O B H U N T!  
> XO, your friendly neighborhood ghost

**Chapter 33: Dick Measuring Contests Are Surprisingly Easy If You Don’t Have a Dick**

 

“Sam,” Dean breathes disbelievingly.

 

Sam rushes over and pulls his mom into a giant bear hug.

 

“What happened?” Dean asks, his voice shaking with disbelief.

 

“He, uh, he brought me back,” Sam says, almost … embarrassed.

 

Lucifer just strolls on in and smiles in an aw shucks sorta way, “It’s what I do.”

 

Castiel glares at him, “It is not what you … how did you get in here?”

 

“VIP pass, I’m with the band,” Lucifer says jokingly, but when nobody laughs or so much as smiles at him, he raises his hand towards Sam, “C’mon, shouldn’t you be thanking me? I – I gave Sammy an extra life. ‘Sides, what with my lil bro here bein’ a hot mess, I figured you’d need me … so I’m here to join the team.”

 

Dean and I exchange looks. Lucifer sidles up next to Jack. I instinctively want to melt the angel into a puddle, but something holds me back, something deep. I’ve learned enough about my power to obey that instinct and keep a reign on my power.

 

“You’re name is Jack,” Lucifer says, looking at his son.

 

“And yours is Lucifer,” Jack says quietly.

 

Dean shifts beside me, striding up to Lucifer, “No, no, no. You don’t talk to him.” Dean says jabbing a finger towards Lucifer. “And you don’t listen to him.” He points at Jack.

 

“Don’t you think that’s his choice?” Lucifer asks, gesturing towards his son.

 

“No,” Cas says, his voice low and gravelly. Well, no different than usual, but a shade darker.

 

“Are you trying to keep me from my son?” Lucifer asks, having the nerve to sound shocked and appalled.

 

“Oh, this is Kelly Kline’s son,” Cas says, “He’s nothing like you.”

 

“Don’t say he’s nothing like me,” Lucifer argues, glaring at Castiel, “I’m the only one who understands him. This power he has. I’m powerful. Dangerous. Ruthless.” He glances at Jack who’s staring at him, and adds not very convincingly, “I mean, in the best sense though.”

 

“No,” Dean says, he looks towards another angel, “Kill him.”

 

Lucifer barely eyes the angel, “He’s not strong enough.”

 

The angel says Dean’s name in. Hey, hold up. I recognize him. But I remember him being in a lot worse shape. The archangel Gabriel. But like upgraded ™ . There’s not a sign of his prolonged torture anywhere to be seen.

 

“Stop it,” Jack says quietly.

 

Dean turns to Gabriel, and shouts, “You’ve got the blade. He’s the devil. Kill it.”

 

“Stop it!” Jack yells, before pulling an angel and disappearing.

 

Everyone looks around. Most of us look a little sheepish.

 

“Well, great,” Dean says, “Does that when he’s scared. Way to go, dad!”

 

“I’ll go look for him,” Gabriel says, taking off.

 

“I don’t understand all the hostility,” Lucifer says, looking at each of us, “You. Need. Me. I am a walking weapon. I know this Michael. Hell, I beat him. So how about a little R.E.S.P.E.C.T.?”

 

Cas nudges me out of the way and goes into Dean’s backpack. He pulls out a pair of cuffs and approaches Lucifer with them. 

 

“In case your innate evil overwhelms this newfound team spirit,” he says, “You won’t mind wearing these then, will you?” He holds up the cuffs. “You’re not at full power. They should hold you.” He looks towards Dean. Everyone watches Lucifer. I can see the anxiety in Sam’s body language. The 

 

Lucifer just flicks his wrists out and says, “Slap ‘em on.”

 

Cas starts putting the cuffs on Lucifer. Uhh. Yeah, Maybe it’s time for me to butt in. Add another layer of tomfuckery discouragement to this angel that seems prone to murderous tomfuckery. 

 

“Oh, and, uh, if you get out of line, I’ll ram my power so far up your ass your colon comes out your eye sockets,” I say, making myself sound bored.

 

Lucifer looks me up and down, and scoffs, “What’s a cute little girl like you gonna do to me?”

 

Okay. Hold the fuck up. Did this little chicken strip call me  _ a cute little girl _ ? I know he didn’t. I’m ready to give everyone a lil demo of my threat. I glance at Dean who just shrugs. I look at Lucifer and smile. I throw my power at him like a harpoon. Unlike all the other angels I’ve dealt with, Lucifer is … complex. Likely because he’s an archangel. It takes me a moment to find his artery of power and squeeze. I watch his face go red and his body start to shake. Just as he’s about to collapse to the ground, I let go.

 

“Ant,” I say gesturing to him, then I twirl two fingers back towards myself and say, “Boot. Got it?”

 

Lucifer looks at me incredulously, “What in the living hell are you?”

 

I smirk, “A bedtime story.”

 

Lucifer stares at me. Sam steps in, placing his massive body between us. Not that that’s necessary. I think I just proved that. But that ain’t gonna stop a Winchester. I’m his sister. Lucifer is the threat. He’s not gonna put me in the threat’s line of fire no matter how powerful I am. I could literally be God and he still probably woulda done it.

 

“So, if you’re here,” Sam says, “Is the rift closed?”

 

“No,” Lucifer says, still distracted by me, “I left Rowena some grace. So you have …” His features contort into a thinking face, “I’m thinkin’, mmmm, thirty-one hours. Give or take?”

 

We all exchange looks and I say, “Well then, we better hustle.”

 

Exit: Elvira. I walk to the building I’m sharing with Mary and that girl. Sam and Dean follow me, leaving Cas to keep an eye on Lucifer. I start repacking my bags inside and when I come out Sam and Dean are in the midst of a brotherly love hug. I don’t mean to interrupt, but when Dean sees me, he releases Sam. Dean looks at both of us.

 

“What are we gonna do about Lucifer?’ he asks.

 

“I’ll handle him,” Sam says, and at Dean’s look he adds, “I will. Dean, let me handle it.”

 

And I know Sam needs to. It needs to be Sam. For any sort of healing to be done, Sam needs to bring down Lucifer. That monster has haunted him for as long as he can remember, since he was born, really. Sam  _ needs _ to be the one to deal with him. Not for Jack, not for Dean, but for himself. And in that moment, I know it won’t be me who kills Lucifer. This is Sam’s.

 

Dean nods, “Okay.”

 

Sam looks me up and down, “So … you’re powers …”

 

I shrug, “As of right now, I can melt angels from the inside out. But no universe jumping. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

 

Dean shrugs, “Melting angels could come in handy.”

 

“You look different,” Sam says.

 

“New hair, new eyes, new me,” I say, “Courtesy of my Precursor blood.”

 

I throw my arms around Sam’s middle and press my face into his chest. He wraps his arms warmly around me. And before I know it, I’m crying all over again. I let go of him and quickly wipe away my tears. He’s smiling  at me.

 

“I’m glad your not dead,” I say, “Don’t do that. Ever.”

 

“I missed you, El,” Sam says with a smile.

 

“Alright, alright, cut it out. I’m gonna hack,” Dean says brusquely, “Let’s go talk to Mom so we can get out of this hell hole.”

 

We start towards Mary. Just in time to see her deck Lucifer. So … yeah. Mary’s a badass. I might have some crazy powers, but it takes guts to just punch the supreme lord of evil right in the kisser. And she just did. It’s kinda a pity that she hates me. Or doesn’t like me. Cuz that alone makes me wanna be her friend. But noooo. Well, ain’t nothing I can do. Lemme just add that to my list of things I wish I could control, but are totally out of my control.

 

“Nice shot,” Dean says, shoving his hands into his pockets as we get closer.

 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam adds, “Hey, um, we really should go look for Jack and get back home before it’s too late.”

 

Then Mary makes a face. A very guilty sheepish face. And I know what’s coming before she sys it.

 

“I, um, boys I … about that,” she says, “I’m not going back.”

 

Dean blinks and looks like she just slapped him, “I’m sorry, what?”

 

“I’ve fought beside theses people, I respect them, I respect their cause,” she says, “you can’t expect me to just abandon them.”

 

“Mom, that’s not,” he starts, like a kid about to say that’s not fair, “You heard what Lucifer said. We have thirty one hours.”

 

“I – Sam, Dean,” she says, “I know what you went through to come find me.” And Dean scoffs, “But these people are being slaughtered. They need me here.”

 

“No, we need you, Mom,” Dean argues and I can see the anger and pain on his face, “We do.”

 

I do something even I’m not expecting. I put my hand on Dean’s arm, gently. He barely spares me a glance, but that’s okay. He knows I’m here. I can read it on his face. He seems a little calmer. Sam looks at my hand on his brother’s arm like it’s alien.

 

“We have been mopping up the world for years. Years. We have been knocked down. We have been possessed. We’ve lost friends, we’ve lost family. We lost each other,” he says, “And we never walk away. Ever. And sometimes we should’ve. Because not every fight, everywhere, can be one. It just can’t. Right?” He looks at Sam, “Tell her.”

 

“I think Mom made up her mind,” Sam says.

 

“See?” Dean says instantly, but then he realizes what Sammy just said, “Wait. What?”

 

“Mom, doesn’t want to leave these people,” Sam reasons, “So let’s take ‘em with us.”

 

“They’ll never leave their home,” Mary says, “They’ll never leave their cause.”

 

“I-I’m not saying abandon the fight,” Sam pushes back, “I’m saying we get them somewhere safe then we all figure out a way to take down Michael. Then once we do, they can come back and save their world.”

 

Dean nods like he approves of the plan. Mary smiles.

 

“You’d do that for them?”

 

“Well, we got … what? Nine busting out?” Dean says, “What’s a few more? How many we talking’?”

 

She kinda avoids their gazes, “It’s … uh … twenty-five?”

 

“Okay, well, getting an extra twenty-five through that rift may not be possible,” Dean points out.

 

That’s when Douche of the Lord interrupts us. He looks the same as always. Trenchcoat, sex hair, and tie.

 

“Cas, hey,” Sam says, “Any update on Jack.”

 

“Yes,” he says, his voice a touch panicked, “He’s back.”

 

“Great, where is he?” Sam says.

 

“He’s with Lucifer,” Cas admits.

 

“Elvira,” Dean’s voice is law unto itself.

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say, “Go put Lucifer in his place.”

 

Cas leads the way towards Lucifer and Jack. I follow closely behind. When we get there, I throw my power like a net at Lucifer and drag him to his knees. I can see the rage on his twisted malevolent face. Not the face he shows to everyone else, but his true face.

 

“Hey!” Dean barks, “I told you no talking!” Then he turns to Jack, “And I told you no listening.”

 

“Dean … he’s in chains,” Jack points out.

 

“His mouth isn’t,” Dean argues, “Shoulda gagged him!”

 

“I need to know about my powers, my family,” he says, looking at me.

 

“Listen Jack, I’m staying out of this one, kid,” I say, “I never get involved in Winchester arguments if I can help it.” My response earns me a first rate glare from Dean. I just shrug.

 

“Jack, we are your family,” Cas says, “We’ve been protecting you. We’ve been honoring your mother’s wishes. We’re your family.”

 

“Jack,” Sam says softly, almost in an apologetic tone, “You have no idea who Lucifer really is.”

 

“And I never will,” Jack points out, “Unless I talk to him.”

 

“Jack,” Dean growls.

 

“Dean!” Jack says with force, “He’s my father.”

 

“Elvira …” Dean growls, and for a second, I think he’s gonna ask me to squash Lucifer like a bug, “If he so much as twitches in the wrong direction, finish him.”

 

“With pleasure,” I say.

 

I release Lucifer from my net of power and he struggles back to his feet. I know he’s just dying to know what I am. And I know his blood is boiling at being bested. By a cute little girl, no less. Fucker. He stares at me angrily.

 

“Ok, this is so not fair,” he whines, “You probably know everything about me because these two,” he throws an angry glare in Sam and Dean’s direction, “gossip like old ladies. But I know nothing about you. Tell me anything. Throw me a bone here.”

 

I smirk, “Listen pal, I don’t have to tell you a damn thing. All you need to know is that rock beats scissors. And I’m the rock here.”

 

Lucifer gives me pouty face, “Not even one teeny tiny little thing?”

 

“I will crush you,” I say entirely deadpan.

 

Mary looks between us, probably hoping we’ll get into it and both die in the process, “Look, if we’re gonna try and do this, we should head back to base camp. Talk it over with the others.”

 

“She’s right,” Sam says, nodding.

 

“Then let’s go,” I say.

 

We’re on the road, walking, in thirty minutes. I take the lead scanning for angels and generally keeping an eye out for danger. Even so, Dean sends Gabriel ahead to scout. Dean, Sam, and Mary follow behind me. Occasionally, Dean will speed up and fall into step beside me, but I’m not terribly chatty right now. My emotions have been in absolute turmoil since seeing Dean again. After weeks of being without both brothers, it’s so strange to be here with them. After an hour, no sign of Gabriel, Cas too goes ahead to scout and look for his brother.

 

“You good Elvira?” Dean pulls up beside me.

 

I glance at him, “Yes … just … focused.”

 

“You seem, I don’t know, out of it,” he says.

 

I shrug, “It’s just weird. Having you and Sam back.”

 

“Weird how?” he sounds defensive.

 

“Not in a bad way,” I clarify, “I just, it’s been me and Jack. Now, Jack’s dad’s here so he probably doesn’t give two hoots about me. And your mom … well, haha, she hates me. Has since I’ve been here. And … I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. I’m fine.”

 

He stops me and touches my arm, “Elvira, if you’re not fine, I wanna know. And my mom doesn’t hate you.”

 

“Yes, she does,” I shoot back, “She can’t stand me. Which is all well and good, except I’ve saved their asses multiple times. I guess … I don’t know. She’s your mom, Dean. I wanted her to like me, I guess. And I just … I’m feeling very alone. And Jack was the only one who got it and now … he’s got his dad.”

 

He looks me in the eyes, “Elvira, you will never be alone. We’re all your family. Sam, Jack, my mom, hell … even Cas. We’d do anything for you. And we know you’d do the same for us.”

 

“I …” the words don’t come out and I’m stuck staring into the those ridiculously beautiful green eyes. I want so badly to kiss him. And he’s got that look on his face that tells me he feels the same. But I can’t. Or won’t. Or he won’t.

 

“Hey,” Mary says, interrupting us, “Everything alright?”

 

Dean tears his gaze away from me, “Uh, yeah. Just catching up with Elvira here.”

 

We keep walking and Mary falls into step beside us. I’m stuck between them. And honestly, I feel like a third wheel. It’s fucking weird. Dean gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze before shifting his pack.

“Elvira … Dean says that your mom was French,” Mary says awkwardly.

 

“Yes, full-blooded, actually,” I say slowly, glancing at Dean. Was he … telling his mom about me? Suddenly, I feel a little giddy.

 

“Your dad?” she asks.

 

“The man who raised me was English,” I say, “A duke or Lord of some sort. My father, Calenmai, Precursor of Chaos, he, uh, well, he basically popped in to make sure that I happened and then left.”

 

“This Calenmai … he’s looking for you,” she says quietly.

 

“Yeah, he has been for awhile,” I say, running a hand through my silver hair, my reminder of my blood, “Apparently, I’m supposed to destroy worlds or something.”

 

“He pretty much kidnapped her for a month,” Dean grouses.

 

“A couple days,” I correct.

 

“Princess, it was a month for us,” he grumbles, “Just cuz it was a couple days for you, doesn’t mean you’re right …”

 

I roll my eyes, “Okay. He kidnapped me for a whole month. Happy?”

 

“No,” he says, but I can see the smile in his eyes.

 

“Well, you should be,” I mutter.

 

He elbows me gently in the side, “Yeah, because it’s like walking through fire to get you to admit that you’re wrong.”

 

“Hey, that’s not a trait that I alone possess,” I point out. 

 

He chuckles. Before I know it, I’m smiling. Smiling like I haven’t in ages. This is what Dean brings out in me. My happiest sides. And for that, I’m grateful. Dean is like a ray of sunshine in my eternal cloud of depression. God, I must be fucking insane to say or think that. Only a crazy person would think of Dean as their ray of fucking sunshine.

 

Just then Cas rounds the corner to us. He looks distressed. 

 

“Hey, find him?” Dean asks.

 

“No,” Cas replies, looking around, “Gabriel went ahead to scout. He should be back by now.”

 

I’m so distracted by Dean that I didn’t feel it. The pulse of angels, a squad of them, heading towards us. One angel, in particular, speeding to get here. I’d put my money on Gabriel.

 

“Uh guys,” I say, “We have a problem.”

 

Just then, Gabriel bursts from the brush yelling  _ angels _ . Like, no shit. Dean, Mary, Sam, everyone pulls their weapons. I prepare to throw my power. But in a second they go poof, in a cloud of grey dust and white light. Everyone looks at me. I look around at everyone.

 

“That … wasn’t me …” I say slowly. I look at Lucifer. Everyone does. He’s standing with one hand posed in the air like a snap. The cuffs hiss as they melt off him.

 

“Oh, yeah, about the cuffs, I knew they wouldn’t hold me in this world,” he says, “Long story short, I didn’t want you impotence to get awkward, so I just went along.” When nobody responds other than to look stressed at Satan’s newfound freedom, he adds pointedly, “You’re welcome. Welcome. Right? Don’t thank me at once.” He looks at Jack, “See team player?”

 

“Elvira,” Dean growls.

 

“Hey, uh, Satan?” I say, “No … no … using your power. If you do it again, I’ll walk you like a dog.”

 

He laughs awkwardly, “C’mon, I just saved the team!” He looks at Jack, “You’re not gonna let her talk to me like that, right?”

 

Jack and I exchange looks, and he says, “If Elvira really wanted to walk you ‘like a dog’ …” he says slowly, “She would. And I couldn’t stop her. And neither could you. She’s powerful.”

 

I look back at Satan, “Your son knows what’s up.” I give Jack an awkward Christian side-hug, then jog back to the front.

 

Dean stays in the back to keep an eye on Lucifer and Jack, but Mary of all people walks beside me. We walk for awhile in silence. I keep my radar peeled for anymore angels. I can’t get distracted like I did earlier. So maybe it’s for the better that Dean is in the back. And not next to me. Where he could distract as he wills.

 

“Listen, Elvira,” Mary says, “I know I’ve been hard on you these last few weeks …”

 

“Did Dean put you up to this?” I demand, cutting her off.

 

“What? No,” she says.

 

“Okay, sorry, proceed,” I say.

 

“What I was trying to say was that, I know I’ve been hard on you and I haven’t trusted you,” she says, “But seeing you with my boys … and, well, I know you’ve done a lot for us since you’ve been here … I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

 

I look at her, “Do you mean it? Or are you just saying it because Dean and I are … close.”

 

She looks me in the eye, “I mean it. I’m not going to lie, you’re very powerful. And that scares me. And what it means for Sam and Dean scares me. And I think you’re a little self-righteous and arrogant. And you don’t necessarily think things through. But … you’ve got a good heart. They wouldn’t care about you the way they do if you didn’t.”

 

“Mary … I just want you to know,” I say quietly, hoping to the good God above that Dean can’t hear me, “I’d sooner destroy myself than let Sam or Dean come to harm on my account.”

 

She nods, “Can we start over?”

 

I shrug, “Here’s to second chances.”

 

We arrive at Singer’s Auto Salvage late afternoon. We haven’t seen hide or hair of any other angels. Mary immediately takes off to go find Bobby. The boys hang back by the entrance, looking around in awe or something damn similar. Sam and Dean look around the place like they’re seeing a ghost, which, I guess, in a way, they are. Their Bobby has been dead for years. One of the camp ladies brings us some coffee. Rare. Hard to come by. I never though the hot bitter shit could taste good, but right now it’s like heaven in a cup.

 

“Creeps me out,” Sam comments, coming to stand beside Dean and I, “You know?”

 

“Yeah, but it’s no Sioux Falls,” Dean responds.

 

Bobby, dressed in what looks like makeshift army fatigues strides over to us, “Why should it look like Sioux Falls?”

 

“Uh, just our, uh, our Bobby back in our world, he, um …” Sam trails off, unsure of how to proceed.

 

“He liked to freeze his ass off every winter?” Bobby shoots back, “Yeah, well, this Bobby’s gonna pass on that. Anyhow, it’s good to see you boys again. I knew you couldn’t stay away.” He looks at me, “And you been takin’ care of our girlie?”

 

I smile, “Bobby, you know I’ve been taking care of them.”

 

He grins back at me.

 

“You know where we can find Charlie? Or Ketch?” Dean asks.

 

“Oh, they ain’t back yet,” Bobby says, “They got a tip on an angel kill squad lookin’ to execute some, uh, resistance. They went to head ‘em off at the pass.”

 

“You let Charlie go with Ketch?” Dean asks incredulously.

 

“She let Ketch go with her,” Bobby smarts back, “It’s her operation.”

 

Dean’s got his  _ oh great _ face on.

 

“Bobby, we’re gonna have to hit the road soon,” Sam explains, “We’re running out of time.”

 

‘Now about that,” Bobby says, “Mary said you wanna take a bunch of our people back to this ‘other Earth’?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, taking a swig off his coffee, “Yeah, that’s the idea.”

 

“Well, no offense, but that may be the dumbest fuckin’ idea in a landfill of dumb ideas,” Bobby grouses, then he sighs, “But we’ll talk it over with the others.”

 

Sam and Dean look offended. It’s almost funny, but I keep my mouth shut and the smile off my face. Bobby looks at me again, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. I’ve only been gone from the main camp for a couple of days, but I miss the old dude. And I’m pretty sure the sentiment is returned. Dean runs a hand over my back then he and Sam head towards Mary who’s standing at the door of a building on the other side of camp. I walk back with Bobby and fill him in on some of the stuff that’s been happening.

 

“How’s Mary been?” Bobby asks, cutting me a glance while we’re still out of her earshot.

 

I shrug, “She apologized, but I think it had more to do with her son’s than me.”

 

Bobby tilts his head a little, “Is that so bad? Don’t make it any less genuine. I mean, ya gotta understand, you’re pretty much a god. It’s scary shit. And ya say you’re supposed to go dark side.”

 

I nod, “I know … it still bothers me though.”

 

“It shouldn’t,” Bobby says pointedly, “Girlie, not everyone’s gonna like ya. And besides, Dean seems to like ya plenty.”

 

I smile, “Shut it, ya old coot.”

 

We all meet in headquarters. We being Sam, Dean, Mary, and some people I’ve dubbed The Village Elders. Basically the people who have been here so long, they’re pretty much the council. I find a spot beside Dean. Which is a mistake. Because up against the table that’s pushed to the wall, where no one can see, he grabs my ass. I shoot him a look. But he dutifully ignores me. Looking out at the gathered faces like he’s totally not copping a feel. 

 

As they begin explaining what they want to do, that being shuffle two dozen people through a steadily weakening tear, Dean’s hand slides upward and he begins toying with the waistband of my jeans. To everyone else, it looks like he’s got his hand rested on the table behind me. If I were to stop him, everyone would know. What a dick.

 

“So let me get this straight,” an older black man named Andy says, “you want us to follow you through a magic door that’s gonna blast us the hell outta here and into some kind of fairytale world where everything’s pretty?”

 

“Okay, that – that’s not exactly, what I – what I was trying to say,” Sam replies.

 

“Andy, look, I get that you don’t know my sons,” Mary says using her mom voice, “But you do know me. That world does exist. Hear them out.”

 

“No one here is running out on our buddies,” Andy says, “Running out on the fight.”

 

“Nobody’s say run out,” Dean says, as if he doesn’t have a hand half-down my pants, “Guys, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re losing. Okay? You’re outmanned. You’re outgunned.”

 

“My brother and I … back home, we are sitting on the biggest collection of lore and – and weapons in  _ our _ world,” Sam cuts in, “Now, something in there, it – it might be enough to even the odds.”

 

“So we find that,” Dean continues, “Then you come back here with a plan, a plan to beat Michael and his armies. And then you win.” The way he says that last part has me hot and bothered and I don’t even know why.

 

“Exactly,” Sam says, “You may think you don’t know us, but you do. We’ve been where you are. Hell, we are you.”

 

Mary looks proud. Andy looks at the other Village Elders, before looking back at us.

 

“We’ll talk to our people.” He says, “Take a vote.”

 

“That’s all we ask,” Dean says, pulling his hand from my jeans and folding them neatly in front of him.

 

“Thank you,” Sam adds.

 

As they get up to leave, talking quietly as they do, Bobby appears. He walks into the tent looking grim. He places both hands on a chair and leans forward.

 

“Just got news about Charlie and Ketch,” he says, “Goin’ after the execution squad went sideways. They’re the ones who got ambushed.

 

A cloud of dread settles over us. Sam looks between each of us.

 

“Where did they hear about this execution?” he asks Bobby.   

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	34. Rescue Missions Mostly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS I FUCKING FINISHED THE FIRST PART OF THIS WILD STORY!!!! IT's d o n e. Now, you guys have a choice. I can post all the rest in one chunk or space it out. It's up to you. Nut like I have to hear from ya'll.

**Chapter 34: Rescue Missions Mostly**

 

I know the man is guilty the second they bring him in. I can see it in his face. Okay. Maybe I can’t. But he looks like the type. And if anything happens to Charlie or Ketch, I’m rip his lungs out. Then stuff them down his throat. Then dip him in acid. Sam practically throws the dude in his chair. Cas takes up a spot behind him in the corner. And if I wasn’t me, or if I was any less powerful, I’d be a little scared of the killer look on his face. And Sam’s and Dean’s and Bobby’s. I pull my face into boredom, knowing that if I try to pull off one of those death faces, I’ll look constipated.

 

“What do you want from me?’ the guy starts, “I didn’t do nothin’.”

 

Dean leans forward in his chair, “We’re thinkin’ ya did.”

 

“Did you tell Charlie and Ketch about the angel kill squad?” Sam gets to the meat of it.

 

Castiel takes a few steps towards the man, slowly, purposefully. And if I were him, I would be shitting my pants. Good thing he wore the brown ones.

 

“Yeah,” the guy admits.

 

“So you set ‘em up,” Dean growls.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” the guy says.

 

Dean glances up at Cas and gives the tiniest of nods. Castiel places his hands on either side of the mans head and wrenches it upwards. His eyes glow blue with celestial power. And the man screams in agony. Bobby and Sam do not look … thrilled. When Cas releases him, the guy collapses forward, rocking, his breathing ragged.

 

“You wanna try that again?” Dean demands.

 

The man says nothing, instead he glares back at us. Castiel puts his hands on either side of his head once more. I see his fingers pressing delicately into the man’s temple. Panic, wild and unpredictable, flares in the man’s eyes.

 

“Yes, okay?” the man sobs out, “The … the angels promised … immunity … and money.”

 

“Good,” Dean barks, “Where’d the angels take them?”

 

“I don’t know,” the man says quietly.

 

Cas’s eyes flare again and the man screams in agony.

 

“A cabin a few miles north of here!” he screams, “A cabin! That’s all I know!”

 

Dean glances at me, “El, think you can get us there with that?”

 

I nod.

 

We all stand up to leave. Dean gives Cas a curt nod. We all leave and I ignore the man’s screams as Cas finishes him. It’s dark. As Dean and I walk beside each other, our hands brush together. We meet Mary, Jack, Lucifer, and Gabriel in the center of camp. Castiel comes over seconds behind us.

 

“We’ve got a rough location,” Dean says, “Elvira will lead Sam, Cas, Mom, Jack, and I there. Lucifer, Gabriel, you two stay behind to keep an eye on camp. I wouldn’t put it past these douches to use this as a ploy to send some of their other fuckers in.”

 

Gabriel just nods, but Lucifer – of course – protests, “C’mon you guys. You’ll need me. I’m the biggest powerhouse you guys got!”

 

Dean jabs his thumb in my direction, “Sorry Satan, Precursor trumps angel.”

 

Lucifer’s eyes widen minutely. Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag on that one. No more secrets for me. Dean glances at me, as if to see if I’m mad, but I just shrug. It’s not that big of a deal anyways. He would have pieced it together at some point eventually. Or someone else woulda spilled the beans. Lucifer looks me up and down. When he meets my eyes, I hold his gaze.

 

“So she’s a Precursor, so what?” he says, “I’m still an angel. I know how they tick. And hey, if Michael’s there … I know him. I’ll be able to predict what he’ll do.”

 

“First of all, I’m  _ half _  Precursor, half Primary Human,” I say.

 

“Primary Human?” Dean says judgmentally.

 

“It’s better than saying half human of Earth Prime,” I retort, then I continue, “Secondly, I too know how angels tick. I can peel apart their energies. Thirdly, Michael’s not there. And finally, even if my internal radar was off somehow or wrong and he was by chance there, Jack or I would have a better chance at defeating him than your crusty old ass.”

 

Lucifer holds his hand over his heart and says exaggeratedly, “You wound me.”

 

I roll my eyes.

 

“You’re staying,” Dean says, “That’s final.”

 

“Whatever,” Satan mutters kicking a loose rock, then meanders away, followed by Gabriel.

 

“Let’s roll out in five,” Mary says.

 

Sam, Jack, and Dean follow me back to the little hut I’ve been sharing with Mary. I grab my iPod and water thermos. When I come into the living area, Sam is seated at the table with Deana and Jack standing on either side of him. Jack is telling them some story of me melting angels. Sam raises his eyes to stare at me in awe.

 

“Tw – twelve angels? At once?” he asks.

 

“Try fifteen,” I say, unscrewing the cap from my thermos and downing some water.

 

“Fifteen,” Dean says, his voice all pride, “You hear that? My girl can take out fifteen angels at once.”

 

Freudian slip.

 

Sam cranes his neck to look at Dean, “Oh, oh  _ my girl _ is she?”

 

Dean’s face goes deadpan, “Shut up Sammy.”

 

I stride over to Dean, running my fingers down his chest’ letting my nails gently scrape his slightly exposed collar bone,  and smirking at the way his breathing goes rapid, “It’s okay Pretty Boy. You can tell them about your massive raging hard on for me.” I peck his cheek, smack his ass, then make for the door. Before I leave, I look over my shoulder, “C’mon, can’t keep Mary waitin’.” Dean looks beyond flustered. Then I walk out the door.

 

Before I’m out of earshot, I hear Jack ask, “What’s a ‘hard on’?” I start dying internally. Oh my god. What a sweet sweet innocent boy. Protect him.

 

I meet Mary next to the Jeep we’ll be taking part of the way. A few minutes later Sam, Dean, and Jack come out of the building and join us. Bobby fills the tank of the Jeep with a few gallons of gas. Precious stockpiled hard-earned gas, as I learned from a couple of gas gathering missions. Mary takes a deep breath and looks between all of us.

 

“Ready?” she asks.

 

“I’m drivin’,” Dean says simply.

 

“Shotgun,” I shoot back.

 

We all get in the Jeep. Bobby wishes us good luck. And awaaaaaay we go. Dean goes to the nearest road that’ll takes us North. We drive for a couple miles, keeping the headlights off as much as possible. It’s dark as shit though and there are trees. A mile or two out, I have Dean pull over.

 

“On foot from here,” I say, “And I’m gonna try something. Angels can sense people. So I’m gonna throw a shield over us that can cloak us. But I have no idea if it’ll work. Or if I’ll kill us all.”

 

Only Mary seems bothered. This is a trick Bobby and I have been practicing, using Jack as our angel. I cast my power out like a blanket over us. No one should feel any different, but I do. It’s like having them all under my skin. It’s fucking wack, man. And, yippee, no one dies. 

 

I lead the way through the trees, moving as silently as dead leaves and twigs permit. Dean stays close behind me, sometimes so close I can feel his breath on my neck. Which is a turn on. I guess this is karma for that little stunt I pulled in the cabin I’m sharing with Mary. Or I’m just really horny when Dean’s around. Eh, let’s go with the first option. 

 

When we’re a half mile out, I let everyone know. I can feel the tension in the air of pre-fight anxiety, excitement, jitters, whatever. Everyone holds their weapons at ready. Only Jack and I are totally unarmed. Even Cas has his little angel blade somewhere. Probably up his sleeve.

 

When we see the lights of the cabin, we halt. Dean runs us through the plan in hushed whispers. I take out all the guards on the outside. We cut the power. And bullshit it the rest of the way. As per fricken Winchester usual. I find three guards and watch them implode. Dean stares at me as the last one falls. When I use my power, my skin glows that like silver moonlight and my eyes become wholly silver. I don’t have time to decipher the strange set look on his face before he turns away from me. Something about that makes me feel a little sick. That small voice in the back of my mind reminds me that I’m a monster, something to be hunted, and nothing else. 

 

_ Listen up, you can’t think about that right now _ , I tell myself.

 

Sam is the one who sneaks in and cuts the power. Right as he’s about to cut it, I hear the sharp screams of a woman. My heart hits my stomach. Charlie. The lights snap out after Sam does his part. I hear an angel within yell ‘Secure the area!’ I feel the aura of the first angel pulsing as he opens the door and steps cautiously outside. His blade is clutched tight in his fist. He walks over to one of the fallen guards. As soon as he reaches the body, Jack appears from the shadows and takes him down with his power. The angel’s cry of pain is garbled as he’s thrown back. 

 

Mary and I bust into the building first. Charlie is tied to a chair, her head hanging, blood dripping down her face. Ketch is hanging, tied to the ceiling by his hands, not faring much better. Mary takes on one of the guards. I melt the other. Sam and Dean kick open another door. Dean rushes to Ketch to help him down from the ceiling. I turn to help Mary but Sam’s already on it. They have the angel down in seconds. 

 

Sam grabs Charlie and pulls her into a hug. She seems startled at first. The giant seems to realize this and lets her go quickly.

 

“Uh, sorry,” he breathes.

 

Charlie, being the ass kicking warrior she is, just grins and hits him in the shoulder.

 

“Nice of you to come save me Xena,” Charlie says with a smile, her breathing still heavy.

 

“My pleasure,” I say, flashing her a grin, “I love saving a damsel in distress now and then.”

 

“Xena?” I hear Dean behind me.

 

I look over my shoulder to see him straining, Ketch practically draped over his shoulder.

 

“I was Xena for Halloween one year,” I explain.

 

Dean’s eyes darken and he mutters, “Of course you were.”

 

“Hey, I hate to interrupt your little powow, but we should clear out,” Mary cuts in.

 

We exchange nods. Mary guards the boys’ front and I’ve got their back. The glow from my skin is enough to see by. We limp outside where Cas and Jack are waiting. And … there’s another dead Cas … on the ground. Okay, really, I should be used to this cuz like I’m the daughter of a transcendental being, but that’s fuckin wild. I’m about to ask, Dean beats me to it.

 

“Uh, Cas, there’s a dead you on the ground,” he says laboredly.

 

“Yes,” he says in that usual monotone, “He was helping them. I took care of it.”

 

“You okay?” Dean asks.

 

“Yes,” Cas replies.

 

“Alright, everyone accounted for?” Mary asks.

 

We do a last check. Everyone is present and in good shape. The trek back to the car seems faster than when we were going to the cabin, despite our two wounded fellows. Charlie, Ketch, and Sam ride in the back seat while Mary and Jack ride shotgun. Dean and I hop on the back of the car, standing on the back bumper, and holding the frame of the Jeep.

 

Mary takes the drive relatively slow, avoiding as many bumps as possible. Not just for us, but for Ketch and Charlie. They’re busted up enough, no need for a bumpy ass ride. The scenery flashes by and I try my best to not think about the look Dean gave me earlier. The word monster echoes around my mind though. It’s he who breaks the silence though.

 

“I’ve never seen your use your power like that before,” he says quietly, his voice husky.

 

“I couldn’t … before I … pushed you through the rift,” I say haltingly, reluctant to bring up that whole incident. He cuts me a look, but says nothing. “Listen, I know I’m different now and you probably think I’m a monster,” the words start spilling out of me before I can stop them, “And – And I guess I’ll just have to live with that. Y’know, cuz really there’s not much else I can do. And you guys deserve to have – have a home. And that’s not something you can really have with a monster living under your roof.”

 

Dean turns his face to look at me, his eyes locking on me and holding me in place, “Princess, I don’t think you’re a monster. You’re all decked out with bells and whistles now, but you’re still the same where it counts. Yeah it’s real fucking weird what with the hair, and glow-y skin, and your eyes. It’ll take some time to get used to, but I know you’d never hurt us.”

 

I half smile and say absently, “It scares me Dean.”

 

“Because … because I like it. I like the power,” I say quietly, looking away from him, “And sometimes, I’m scared that I like it too much. And maybe … one day ... it’ll consume me.”

 

“I won’t let that happen,” he says like it’s set in stone, like there’s no other possible outcome.

 

I don’t say anything. I feel the chill of the wind as we drive. We must be pretty close to home base by now. All in all this mission went pretty smoothly. We got Charlie and Ketch, and in good time. I crane my neck to see the oncoming road. I can see the lights from camp in the distance. Five minutes out maybe. Probably less.

 

“You ever feel like everything is going so right that something is bound to go wrong?” Dean asks suddenly.

 

I whip my head to look at him. His face is vacant, eyes empty locked on the horizon. His hair sways in the wind. Something inside me aches at that. I know that feeling. That feeling that everything is  _ too  _ perfect. That’s all going to either fall apart or slip right between your fingers or some combination of both. I’ve been feeling that a lot lately. Especially where he’s concerned.

“Yes,” I say softly, “All the time.”

 

We roll into camp and come to a stop. I release the back of the jeep and jump down. My boots hit the earth with a loud thud. Dean lands right beside me. For a split second, time seems to stand still. I’m staring at him. He’s staring at me. I can’t take it. I duck out. 

 

I head back to the little house I share with Mary and the other girls while everyone else gathers and meets Bobby in the center of camp. Dean shoots me a look as I walk past, but I keep going. I’m tired. And drained. And I don’t know how to handle the hurricane of emotions that involved Dean. Kalilah is in the makeshift living room. She’s got a bucket of hot hater on the table and some old rags. She must have bathed. She’s sitting at the table, going through things and packing a bag. I take my boots off, leaving them by door.

 

“Going somewhere?” I ask.

 

“Yeah, to your world,” she says, “We took the vote and we’re going.”

 

I smile at her, “That’s great.”

 

She returns the smile almost wistfully, “Yeah, it seems too good to be true.” She looks back down to her things, rolling up a small statuette in a t-shirt and stuffing them in the pack, “I heated up some more hot water for you. I know you hate being dirty. I just did it, so it’s really hot.”

 

“Thanks Kalilah,” I say.

 

I heave the bucket of scalding hot water off the table and carry it to my room. I kick the door shut and put the bucket on the ground, not trusting the rickety table to hold it. It’s fucking heavy. I light the candle I keep in here, the only source of light for this room. The other room have oil lamps and bigger candles. 

 

I strip out of my layers of clothes, trying to ignore the biting chill of that seeps through the papers thin walls. My nipples perk against the cold. Once I’m in the buff, I take one of the rags, dip it in the water. The rag is hot as I wipe over the back of my neck. It feels fucking amazing. I sigh in happiness. I haven’t gotten to bathe since last time I was at home base.

 

I zone out, rhythmically dipping and wiping. I don’t know how long I’ve been at it when a gentle knock sounds at my door. Long enough for the water to go lukewarm. I drop the rage in the bucket. My limbs are stiff from standing in the same place for so long, and my back aches from the bending over. 

 

“Who is it?” I say, not loud enough to wake anyone up if people are sleeping.

 

“It’s me,” I hear through the door. Dean.

 

“Come in,” I say.

 

The door opens. Light pours in from outside. I didn’t realize how dark it was in here. Dean steps into the room and quickly shuts the door behind him. His eyes widen and his gaze drags up and down my nude form. Goosebumps prickle across my skin from the cold. He clears his throat before dragging his gaze back to my face. I smile faintly at him. He’s covered in what looks like grease. 

 

“Everything okay?” I whisper.

 

“Yeah,” he breathes, “I’ve been fixing up a junker bus Bobby’s got outside. We’re gonna use that tomorrow morning to get everyone to the rift. They voted to jump ship by the way.”

 

“That’s good,” I say softly, wrapping my arms around myself.

 

He looks me up and down again and somehow I know it’s not about the nudity, “You okay, Princess?”

 

I nod. I don’t know how to do this. To talk to him. To be anything more than friends that fuck. But I feel something for him. Something more than friendship. And I don’t know how to deal with that. I don’t know what I even want. And I definitely don’t know what he wants. Hell, I’m surprised he wants anything to do with me considering what I am. I take a deep breath.

 

I won’t talk about that. I won’t bring my shit down onto him. I smile at him. I bend over pick up the rag out of the bucket and walk over to him. Gently, I wipe the grease off his face. Our eyes meet and my  hand pauses. My heart kicks up like it always does when I know he’s going to kiss me. When he kisses me. When I think about him kissing me. When I think about him.

 

I’m not sure which of us leans in, but suddenly his mouth is locked on mine. His tongue gently pushing entrance into my mouth. Suddenly, all my thoughts are forgotten. And I lose myself in him for the time being.

 


	35. Who’s Idea Was It To Put the Cat In the Bag Anyways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go kiddos. *rubs hands together maniacally* Not long till the end here! I hope you guys like it! Always keep fighting!
> 
> Your friendly neighborhood ghost

**Chapter 35: Who’s Idea Was It To Put the Cat In the Bag Anyways**

 

Dean presses kisses along my neck, gently nibbling on my earlobes. A sigh slips from my lips. I grip his shirt and twist us around so his back is to my bed. Then I shove him onto the mattress. His body hits the bed and groans beneath his weight. His eyes run up and down my body. I saunter towards him and plant my feet. Placing my hands on either side of his shoulders, I bend over him. I ease off his jacket, then his two shirts, pulling them up and over his head. Then leaning down, I hover my mouth over his, so close I can feel his warm breath hitting my lips. He leans upward to try and kiss me, but I move out of the way before he can. Now teasing him, this is something I can do all I day. I smirk at him.

 

I stand a little straighter to give myself balance, then I place my hands on either side of his chest. Slowly, I run my hands down his body, keeping my eyes locked with his, until they reach his hips. I smirk at him, watching his eyes darken, before I bend down and dig my teeth into his belt. Maneuvering smoothly, I undo his belt, and then the button on his jeans. Now that those are out of the way, I yank his pants and underwear down and toss them on the floor.

 

I take a minute to look at him. His muscled thighs and his hard length. He watches me like a cat ready to pounce. I take his length in my hand and then wrap my lips around the tip. With a smirk, I use my tongue to tease him.. I hear his breathing quicken and his hand grips the thin blanket on the bed. I suck his cock deeper into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks to get that sweet reaction out of him. The soft guttural groan. I guide his cock to the back of throat and bob up and down. The sound of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. I forgot how much of a fucking turn on he is. Everything about him screams sex. And I can’t get enough.

 

“Elvira,” my name leaves his mouth in husky whisper, “Let me be inside you.”

 

I hum in my reply, knowing the vibrations will drive him wild. He groans again. I release his cock. Dean hisses at the cold air. Sensually, I crawl up the bed. I press my body against his, practically sliding up him, until I’m straddling him. With heavy-lidded eyes, he watches me, never taking them off me. I take his hand and guide it between my legs, using one of his digits to swipe along my wetness, then I guide them to his mouth. The look on his face as he tastes me is indescribable. 

 

I flip around so that I’m in reverse cowgirl, then I position myself over his length and slide onto it. As he fits inside me, I moan softly. Immediately, his hands go to my hips, steadying me, holding me. Once he’s all the way inside me, I lift off, before sliding back down slowly. I do this again and again and again. His hands gripping my ass tightly. Once I know he’s losing his control from his labored breathing and shaky muscles, I flip back to face him. Dean uses one of his hands to rub tight circles around the bundle of nerves. Holy shit! It feels so good that my legs quake, my knees threaten to buckle.

 

“You’re so fucking wet, Princess,” he growls.

 

“For you,” I moan quietly.

 

He sits up, wrapping his arms around me and flips us over on the bed. It groans beneath us. We exchange a glance. No need to wake the other people here. It would be real fucking awkward if his mom decided to check on me. Not that she would. Still sure she hates me.

 

Dean pulls the one pillow I have under my hips before slamming back into me, hilt deep. I bite my lip to keep from screaming out his name. I dig my nails into the muscle of his back, relishing the feel of it flexing beneath my fingers as he thrusts again and again. He groans as I raise my hips to meet his.

 

“Rub yourself for me Princess,” he whispers.

 

I slip one of my hands between us and do just as he asks. As I trace my clit, Dean switches up the pace. Alternating between a few shallow languid thrusts and then one deep full one. At this point I can’t help it, tiny little moans leave my mouth. I should be quieter, but I can’t. I just can’t with him. My whole body feels like it’s breaking apart, like I’m going to split under the sheer pleasure of it, of him. He leans down and presses his lips to my neck and then gently bites at my earlobe, pulling at it with his teeth. He pulls out and thrusts deep inside me. 

 

Despite the cold chill, I’m hot, our bodies are sweat slicked. He throws one of my legs over his broad shoulder. The angle has him hitting that sweet spot just freaking right. I throw my head back, biting my lip, trying desperately not to cry out. I feel him angle his head, and press a gentle kiss to my inner leg. His thrusts are powerful and deep. I shatter in a million different ways. I’m seeing stars. When we were in the forest, it was quick, full of desperation. This, this is passion. Two, three more thrusts and Dean is coming too. Twitching inside me, even as I contract around him.

 

“That was …” I start, but trail off because honestly I don’t have the words to describe it.

 

“Yeah,” Dean says with a chuckle, “I know what you mean.”

 

He adjusts himself in my bed before slipping under the blanket. I crawl up beside him, nestling into his arms. I feel him bury his face in my hair and press a gentle kiss to my temple. That’s the last thing I notice before drifting off to sleep.

 

I wake up to light streaming through the window and the sound of knocking at my door. I look around with bleary eyes, Dean sleeping peacefully at my side. I look towards the door. I am not awake enough to deal with this. Oh my god. I feel like I’ve been knocked out or something or drugged. 

 

“Alright, I’m coming in Elvira,” I hear Sam say. but it doesn’t register until it’s too late. Until the door’s already opening.

 

It seems to happen in slow motion. The door opening, the controlled look of horror forming on Sam’s face. He stares open mouthed at the sight. Dean and I very very naked in my bed. His eyes flicker from me to Dean and back to me. Dean shifts beside me, curling around me. Sam seems to realize how naked we both are. His face turns scarlett and he looks away.

 

“Mornin’ Sammy,” Dean says, his voice hazy with sleep, “Guess this means the cat’s outta the bag.”

 

“I can’t believe this,” Sam says, his voice filled with disbelief, “How long has this been going on?”

 

“Not very,” I say, “Toss me my clothes, they’re on the floor.”

 

Sam shoots me a look, but does what I ask, “And you guys decided not to tell me.”

 

“Never came up,” Dean grouses.

 

“Never … never came up,” Sam says, “Of course it didn’t come up! How the hell is that supposed to just - to just come up?”

 

Dean pushes himself up in bed with both arms, “Look man, can we have this conversation after she’s dressed. I think only one of us needs to see her very bendy, perfect body. ”

 

“Dean!”

 

“What?”

 

“Gross!” Sam huffs. He leaves the room lickety split though, practically slamming the door behind him.

 

Dean chuckles, “Guess no more sneakin’ around like a couple of fifteen year olds.”

 

“You know, that might be for the better,” I say with a shrug, as I yank my t-shirt over my head,  “We were bound to get caught eventually.”

 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, “Are you okay with it?”

 

“It’s not a big deal,” I say.

 

“Okay. Good,” he says, “Because I don’t care.”

 

I shoot him a look. He’s pretty much fully dressed now and strapping his weapons in. He catches my gaze.Why doesn’t he care? Because it’s not important enough to care … or because it’s actually important to him. He’s so confusing that I’m pretty sure I have no hope of ever figuring him out.

 

“Elvira … listen …” he says, “I think … I think I need to apologize …”

 

“For what?” I say, my eyebrows flicking up.

 

“I know that it bothered you when I said we were just friends with benefits,” he says, “Hell, I kinda think that’s why you pushed me into the rift and stayed here. I don’t blame you. This, whatever this is ...” He gestures between us, “It’s more than that, but I don’t really know what it is. Honestly, I think you’re way out of my league and I have no idea what you’re doing with a fuckin’ wreck like me. And then there’s the whole thing with your dad.” We fall silent. I’m honestly not sure what to say. His hand drifts to the back of his neck, and he says, “Just so you know, this is the most communication I’ve done with a woman … like ever.”

 

I look at him. The way his voice ghosted over that last sentence like he was voicing words he’s been far too afraid to say. And honestly, I’m goddamn speechless. Dean deserves the world. The whole world on a silver fucking platter. He and Sam have sacrificed everything for each other, for their world, and they have suffered far more than anyone should ever have to. My heart aches for him. I step towards him resting my hands on the hard muscle of his chest. Pulling his head down, I push myself up on my toes, and press a sweet chaste kiss to his forehead. Slowly, his arms wrap around me, holding me there. And I’m forever stuck in this moment. The salty sweet taste of his skin on my lips, the gunpowder musk smell of him filling my nose, the feeling of his arms around me. My heart feels like it’s going to burst from behind my ribs.

 

His hands slide up my back as he pulls away, “We better head out there before Sammy has a conniption fit.”

 

I smile, “Poor boy is probably scarred for laugh.”

 

Dean laughs, and I could weep for the sheer joy of it, “Trust me Princess, he’s seen way worse.”

 

He opens the door and heads out into the living area. I pack my bags, throwing together everything I’ve used in the last couple weeks and slinging them over my shoulder. When I join Sam and Dean in the living room, I find their mom sitting at the table going through on of her bags, packing some of the stuff she collected over the course of her time here. 

 

“So are you guys like … in a relationship?” Sam asks, the word sounding foreign on his tongue like the word relationship and you don’t belong in the same realm of existence when referencing his brother. Which, you know, I don’t really blame him for.   
  


“I don’t know,” Dean says.

 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Sam demands.

 

“It means I don’t know Sam!” Dean grouses, “We’re just … we’re figuring things out. So I don’t know.”

 

“I’m surprised you didn’t guess Sam,” Mary says, looking at her younger son, “I’m pretty sure everyone else in camp knew from the minute Dean walked into camp. The first thing he asked was where she was.”

 

“Mom!” Dean growls like an embarrassed teenager.

 

“What?” she says smiling, “I thought it was sweet.”

 

Dean shakes his head. I walk up to the table. Sam’s eyes flicker to me, his mouth opening like he wants to ask a question, but he doesn’t. 

 

“Morning Elvira,” Mary says tightly.

 

“Morning Mary,” I respond a little too sweetly. You know what they say, kill em with kindness baby.

 

Dean’s eyes flicker between us and he tenses beside me. I just run my hand over his back before heading outside. As I walk away, I hear the door open and shut and two sets of heavy footsteps behind me. Sam and Dean appear on either side of me. I glance at both of them.

 

“Elvira, you’re on devil duty,” Dean says gruffly, “I want Lucifer leashed.”

 

I nod, “That won’t be a problem.”

 

“Lucifer will be driving the bus,” he says, “I don’t know if you’re power has range -”

 

“It does …” I say, “Of a couple hundred miles, but I can’t do much at that sort of distance. I’d say fifty miles tops to control Luci.”

 

“Alright then,” Dean says,  “I guess it’s up to you then, you can ride in the Jeep or in the bus.”

 

I nod. We arrive at the bus to see people already loading up. Already seated, the few kids and women seem restless. Lucifer and Gabriel are standing in front of the bus.. I hop aboard, situating myself directly behind the driver’s side. After a few minutes talking with Dean, Lucifer gets in the bus, puts a key in the ignition, and begins trying to start it. It doesn’t seem to want to go. Dean pops the trunk and fiddles with the engine until it turns over. I watch as Lucifer aims finger guns at Dean.

 

“I saw that,” I say, “I won’t hesitate, bitch.”

 

“You gonna fight his battles for him?” Lucifer sneers.

 

“It won’t be much of a fight, more like cold-blooded murder,” I respond flatly.

 

“Y’know, you’re the perfect attack dog for the Winchester brothers,” he says, “Cuz you’re one hell of a bitch.”

 

“Hey guys,” I hear Sam say, “We’re down to one hour, fifty-seven minutes.”

 

People finish loading onto the bus. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jack walk past and away from the bus. Sam jogs after him. After a moment, Lucifer stands to follow. For the time being, Luci and I are BFFs, so naturally where he goes, I go. As we approach, I hear Sam talking to Jack.

 

“We have to get these people to the rift,” Sam says, “We’ll seal Michael up and leave him here.”

 

“No!” Jack exclaims, “I’ve seen what he’s done, the people he’s killed. He deserves to be punished.”

 

“Yeah, I got this,” Lucifer says, tapping Sam’s arm. Sam, while clearly not thrilled doesn’t argue. Lucifer bends to Jack’s eye level and places a fatherly hand on his shoulder,  “See, I think what Sam is trying to say in his own … super simplistic and silly way is maybe you should give this a rethink. I mean, I know I’ve been encouraging you to take Michael on, but it ain’t easy. I tried it. And if he catches you, then we’re all gonna have to waste a lot of time trying to rescue you, and … that puts pretty much everyone in danger.” He gestures to the bus-full of people before placing his hand back on Jack’s shoulder, “Look, I know you feel like you’re doing the right thing, but sometimes, doing the right thing can go wrong.”

 

Sam’s brow is furrowed in displeasure, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. I place my hand on his back. Silent support. It’s best if he just lets  _ this  _ whole thing with Jack and Lucifer run its course. One way or another Jack will learn, but trying to keep him from his dad is just gonna make him resent us.

 

“My father … makes a … valid point,” Jack says slowly.

 

“Father,” Lucifer whispers pointedly, throwing an arm over his shoulder.

 

Sam’s mouth twitches.

 

“Good boy,” Lucifer says. And that doesn’t sit well with me, like he’s a dog, “Wanna come? Let’s do this. Come on.” He steers Jack away, leaving Sam and I standing there watching them, “Kids -  I mean, you gotta know how to talk to them.”

 

Sam looks down at me, “He …”

 

“I know,” I say, “Don’t worry about Jack. You, and Dean, and Castiel have done a great job with him. Once he sees his dad’s true colours, he’s gonna turn his back on him. But you can’t force it.”

 

“It’s just so hard, you know, knowing what he is, what he’s  _ done _ ,” Sam says, glancing one more time at Lucifer ushering Jack into the Jeep, before climbing aboard the bus, “And knowing that at any second, he could turn on us, on Jack. Jack doesn’t deserve that.”

 

“I know, it’s not gonna be easy, but you  _ have _ to let Jack find it out on his own,” I say, putting a hand on his arm, “The last thing you want is for him to resent us for regrets that could easily be bypassed by letting Lucifer play his hand. It’s easier to say, I’m sorry, this isn’t what I wanted to happen for you than to say hey, I’m sorry you never got the chance to know your dad because of us.”

 

Sam nods, making eye contact with me. His eyes are that hazel that’s hard to pinpoint, somewhere between brown and green, like thick moss. So different from Dean’s brilliantly green eyes.

 

“Elvira, I have to ask …” Sam trails off, “Why Dean? I mean, he’s my brother, and I love him, and I’m really happy for him. But, you’re way out of his league.”

 

I think about it.  _ Why Dean? _ And all I can think about is the way I feel when he’s got his arms around me. Dean Winchester is a disaster. He’s an alcoholic. He’s violent. And he’s a little bit of a dick. But so am I. I’m all those things. And Dean, he’s got this side of him that only the people he cares about get to see. This gentle, sweet, caring side. This side that’s a little bit nerdy. And so so smart. I get this feeling, that no one, not even Sam has appreciated Dean for just being … Dean. He is, and always will be, spectacular. I don’t say any of that. Not in the mood to dissect my very complicated feelings for his brother.

 

“He feels like home,” is what slips quietly out of my mouth. 

 

I leave Sam standing there, and get back on the bus. Cas has taken my seat behind Lucifer, so I walk to the back of the bus with Mary. This way I can see our trail for any angels following us, but still keep an eye on the devil. I sit across from Mary, leaving one of my boots hanging carelessly out the door. She shoots me a tight smile. As I settle in, the bus slowly starts moving. 

 

“Elvira, I know you live at the bunker, but is there any chance you like lasagna?” she asks.

 

“Are you … asking me over for dinner?” I stare at her like she’s gone bat shit.

 

“Dean … really likes you, and he trusts you,” she says sweetly, thoughtfully, “So, I think that the least I can do, is try to get to know you.”

 

I blink at her before resting my head against the metal frame of the seat behind me, “Dean deserves a lot better than he’s gotten in life. So I don’t really care if you’re doing it for me or for him, I’m just happy you’re doing it.”

 

She nods. We laps into a silence that stretches for the rest of the journey. Time I take to listen to music, nap. I realize we’ve arrived when the bus slowly wheels to a halt. We’re in the middle of a bright sunlit forest. I jump out the back of the bus, followed by Mary and other’s who were seated close to the back. 

 

“We’re running out of time!” Sam yells, “Come on!”

 

The rift is nothing but a slim scar line almost. I can feel the waves of Void energy leaking from it. It’s closing though, and fast. I can feel the layers of the universes separating, weaving back together like the hole was never there. I can feel it. Suddenly, another power, a small pillar against the walls of the universes, forces its way in, holding it open. The dim line brightens up and beings to crackle with energy. This pillar of energy though, it’s riddle with spiderwebs of breakage, like it’s been doing this for too long. 

 

I run towards the rift. I can feel the energy calling to that one part of me that remains elusive. Universe jumping. I hold out my hand for it. The power coils along me, lunging for the rift like a snake. The rift stands straight, full and powerful, taking some of the weight off that poor little pillar. 

 

This though, this is draining, taxing. I can feel it pulling at my life force. I think this is something I shouldn’t be doing. This is something not to be trifled with, but I have to help get these people through. People start filing towards the rift. Cas, Ketch, Bobby, over two dozen people, many of whom I don’t know the names of. 

 

“Cas! Ketch!” Dean barks, “show ‘em how it’s done.”

 

Castiel and Ketch march past, Castiel calling for everyone to follow them. They pass through the rift. I can feel their energies disappearing into the other world. Sam stands next to me, holding his gun, ready to jump at the first sign of danger.

 

“Mom! Bobby!” he shouts, “Charlie! You’re with them!”

 

Charlie smiles, throwing me a wink, “See you on the other side, bitches!”

 

People start filing through. I watch each and everyone of them disappear. I can feel them travelling through, a pulse under my skin every time one passes through. I can also feel my power steadily getting weaker. A headache starts to form, behind my nose and eyes. God, I haven’t felt like this using my power for weeks. I forgot how much it sucks. Jesus Christ.

 

Lucifer tries to pass through, giving the whole, I wanna be with my kid excuse, but Sam holds him back. 

 

“We need you and Gabriel here in case something goes wrong,” Sam says, hand on the devil’s chest, “Wasn’t that the whole point of you being on the team?”

 

Boy, does Luci look  _ blown. _ He wanders back towards the end of the line, muttering. More people push through. And I silently usher them. I can’t take my mind off this even for a second. The headache is worse. I feel blood dribbling out of my nose, the metallic tang of it all I can smell. I can’t even hear any more. Everything is getting kind of fuzzy. My vision is swimming. It’s not so bad that I don’t hear the boom. 

 

I tear my eyes off the rift for a second. Or specifically one angel. Michael. His blast killed three people. Michael, a beautiful man with chocolate skin and dark eyes. The battle with Gabriel is short lived. His angel blade shoved deep in his rib cage. After seeing him so torn and bloodied, my heart breaks that this, this is how he had to die. Distantly, I hear Sam and Dean shouting. I fall to my knees. A steady stream of blood flows from my nose now. I can feel it in my chest. I cough blood out onto the dirt. 

 

Dean runs over to me, yelling my name. His lips move, forming the shape, though I can barely hear him. I force my mouth to move, force the word to come out. I don’t know how loud or understandable I am. But I do my best to yell for him to go. He pauses, staring at me. I can see the horror etched into his face. I don’t blame him. I must look like a wreck. The blood is pouring out of my nose and from what I can see of my own skin, I’m ashen and gray.

 

Dean drops to his his knees. The movement he makes to pull me in, press his lips to mine is so fast, so intense, my head spins. He stands up, his face smeared with my blood. I see him mouth the words, “Come back, Elvira. You come back to us.” He doesn’t move until I say back, “I promise.” He dives through the rift leaving Sam, Satan, and Michael and I behind. I release the rift from my energy. The effect is immediate, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my head. I’m still drained, but at least it’s not still leaking from me.

 

I look up to come face to face with Michael. He’s fast. He strikes fast and hard. I use what little of my power I can must to throw his hands off enough that he misses. The angel gives me a smirk. I dive headfirst into the pool of power in myself. I close my eyes, imagining a protective wall around myself and I dive. At first, I think it’s nothing more than a puddle, nothing is left, but then I realize it’s more like a natural spring. Energy constantly being created and flowing from my spirit. The Precursor word,  _ Roho,  _ pops into my mind. 

 

I plunge my hands into the spring. There’s no way I’ll beat Michael with so little power stored up. For the first time since unlocking my power, I am scared. It changes nothing though. I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and ready myself for whatever lies ahead. Somehow, I don’t think I’m gonna make it home. I’m sorry Dean. I’m so sorry.

 

I throw a shred of my power at Michael. He deflects it easily with his own. The smile spreading across his face is awful. He rushes me, and I barely dodge him with a  sidestep. He spins faster than I can register in my worn down state, hooks his foot around my leg. I fall to my knees. His hands grab me, throwing me onto my back. My spine collides with the earth with a horrid crunch. I scream. Michael is on top of me, his angel blade out. He drives the knife into my stomach. It burns, but more than anything I feel the blood, leaking from me. I feel my power go into overdrive, trying to control the wound. Michael twists the knife. I scream so loud that in the distance I see a flock of birds fly into the air, take off, away. I wish I could be one of those birds. I wish I could fly home. 

 

“What a sweet sound you make,” Michael hisses in my face, “This is retribution. You’ve been a real thorn in my side, Child of Chaos.”

 

I think of Dean. If I never came back, some part of me knows he would never stop waiting. I promised him. I promised him I would come back. My breath shakes my lungs, but I raise one hand. Michael laughs at my pathetic attempt. He doesn’t even try to swat my hand down. He doesn’t expect me to do what I do. I gently lay my hand on his forehead, but it’s too late. I throw everything I have left into this. Everything. For Dean. For him. I would do anything for him because I love him. I love him. A sob racks my body.

 

I can’t die here. I won’t. The shell of Michael’s power cracks under the sudden force of mine. My  _ Roho _ jets out, a geyser compared to the trickle it was. If this is my last stand, the last of my power, the last of my life, I will make it count. I will say goodbye to Sam and Dean. Michael opens his mouth and screams, a sound so loud and terrible, I can hardly stand it. Sparks fly as I cling to the last shred of my life force, and ram power so far into him, he’ll never recover.

 

I’m so focused on this, on getting out of here so I can see Dean one last time that I don’t hear the super sonic boom. I don’t see him until it’s too late, until he’s standing over me. Calenmai’s eyes are pure molten silver as he smiles at me from over Michael’s shoulder. He smiles, his silver hair billowing in a nonexistent wind. 

 

“ _Finally_ ,” he whispers as he reaches down and gently touches my forehead.


	36. The Truth Is Out There

**Chapter 36: The Truth Is Out There**

 

It feels as though I am suspended in a water drop that is slowly falling when my eyes flutter open. Calenmai is sitting cross legged before me, his bowed, his hands folded. I take a step back as stealthy as I can, but the sound of my feet sounds like a drop of water. His head shoots up. We lock eyes for a few moments before he stands and approaches me. I know there is no use running.

 

“You were gravely wounded, my child,” he says softly, his eyes seeming almost sorry.

 

“Am I dead?” I cut right to the point.

 

“No,” he whispers, “You cannot die by any mortal blade or wound, only the weapon of a Precursor may slay a Precursor, but in your case, so too may your mortal lifespan.”

 

“Then why am I here?” my voice shakes with rage.

 

He sighs, “Elvira … I know you wish for nothing to do with your birth rite, but I must show you something. Before you turn your back on your bloodline, at least do me the courtesy of showing you what I must.”

 

“Can I go home afterwards?” my voice is quiet, but not without steel.

 

His eyes bore into me, “Interesting … I believed, was told rather by Bellason, Precursor of Fate, that you would have no home, no place, not among us, not in any universe. Here you stand though, with love in your heart for a mere mortal man, not even of Earth Prime.” His eyes seem almost soft, “You may go wherever you wish, but there are things that must be made known to you first.”

 

He offers me his hand. And damn it all to hell, damn me in particular, but I take it. I just want to go home. Instantly, we are teleported into a universe, into the outer space of another universe to be exact. A replica of Earth floats before us. Except … Except it’s dying. That’s when I feel the Void energy. This whole universe is dying, being consumed by the Void. I can feel it by the ache that pulls at my heart and smell of sour milk. The smell of the Void.

 

“You feel it, don’t you?” he asks softly.

 

I say nothing, but I nod. In another instant, we’re down on the streets of some city in this Earth. Bodies are piled everywhere, laying haphazardly all over the place. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of rotting human corpses. I resist the urge to bend over and vomit.

 

“What happened here?” the voice that leaves my mouth is husky.

 

Calenmai walks over to one of the bodies draped across a car and flips it over to look in its dead eyes, “Humans view Chaos as a horrible terrible thing. I find it interesting, as all life is sprung from it. Tell me, is there anything neat and orderly about sexual intercourse? What about birth? Or maturing into adulthood? Chaos is the foundation of all life and yet humanity would rather stifle it out, pretend it doesn’t exist, and live their lives in neat little rows.”

 

“What does this have to do with what is happening to this universe?” I demand, looking around once more at the death that has overtaken here.

 

“Peace, patience, my daughter,” he says softly, “You were never meant to take lives unnecessarily, not to me. You were meant to save them. Before you were born, I noticed this.” He gestures around him, “Entire universes, dying, being consumed by the void. Why? Because there is no room left. Because there are too many universes where humanity is able to do what your mortal men did, walk between them. For the Void, the Between, is not inanimate, it is a sentient and obeys a master. A master who has grown tired of humanity.”

 

“What does this have to do with me?” I demand.

 

“You were born as a promise and a curse,” he says quietly, “A promise to the universes born of me, by the Precursor of Chaos, and my wife, Eleth of Life, that we will guard them, protect them. A curse, that should you be born, Eleth and I would hunted to our end by our brothers and sisters.”

 

“I thought I was born to destroy worlds,” I say quietly.

 

He sighs, “In a way you were. What you must do, is a burden I wish on no one. You were born to wipe universes like these clean and to seal the Void back out. You were born to visit universes, and deem them, if they are filled and fraught with evil, to nothingness so as to appease the Void’s master. You were born to be an executioner. If you do not, every universe is at stake, every world. The world of your mortal men.”

 

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” I say, glaring up at him, “Chaos doesn’t seem like it would be very honest.”

 

“Is there nothing more chaotic than the truth?” he says, his voice echoing out, “And is this not undeniable proof?”

 

I blink at him, not wanting to concede anything to him, before saying, “Who is the Void’s master?”

 

“It has two. One is the Precursor of Nothingness, Ellatris, who made it into a canvas,” he says, staring up at the red sky, “the other was I, Calenmai of Chaos, who gave it the ability to host life.”

 

“I’m guessing Ellatris turned on you,” I say flatly.

 

“Ellatris is jealous of humanity, while each of her brothers and sisters each govern something about them, she has nothing,” he says, “Even I am revered in a strange way.”

 

“That seems … a little overboard,” I say slowly, “To end innumerable lives, just because they don’t worship you?”

 

“It’s not only that, but Earth Prime was created by the coupling of Eleth and I, Chaos and Life,” he says, “Ellatris expected a union with me, but Chaos and nothingness would drown each other out, no it was Life that I needed. Ellatris stayed silent for millennia, enduring, it was not until Eleth was with child that she began to order, in secret, the void to consume what it hosted.”

 

“You married one of your sisters,” I say slowly, “That’s disgusting.”

 

“I use brothers and sisters in the loosest way,” he says, “We merely are. We are not like you humans, with your DNA.”

 

“So … let me get this straight,” I say, “Ellatris, wanted to do you, but you chose her sister over her. So she was pissed about that, but put up with it until your wife got pregnant. Then one of her screws went loose and now she’s killing everything.”

 

“That’s one way to describe it,” he says.

 

“Great,” I say, deceptively cheerfully, “How do we stop it?”

 

He shakes his head, “It’s not that simple, Ellatris is in hiding. She must be found. Until then, the most we can do is seal the void out.”

 

I feel as if a massive weight has been lifted off me yet again. I am not meant to destroy everything, I mean kind of, but not really! I’m meant to save everyone! Again, kind of! But it’s still better than I could have hope for.

 

“How?” I breathe.

 

Instantly, we are back in outer space, floating in the midst of this universe. Calenmai, gently tilts my face towards his and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. My power flares bright. I close my eyes. I focus on the Chaos of my soul, that bright and eternal flame. The universe crumbles around us, like a sand castle losing to the waves. Once it is gone completely, I face Calenmai.

 

“How do I seal it?” I ask.

 

“That is a task much harder,” he says, “For you must use your mother’s gift, the gift of Life.”

 

“My mother …” I trail off, “My mother was human.”

 

“In a way,” he says, “Before Eleth was slain by Ellatris, we conceived one more child together, but we knew that if our sister found out, she would have slaughtered Eleth on the spot, such was her jealousy and rage. So I took you from Eleth’s womb, found a mortal woman on Earth Prime and melded you to her.”

 

“I’m a full Precursor …” I whisper.

 

“No,” he replies slowly, “The melding process required you to sacrifice some of yourself. And so, you are in fact, half human. However, you have two, Precursor parents.”

 

“This is getting really … complicated,” I say.

 

“I am sorry, my child,” he says quietly.

 

“So … you’re telling me … both my mom’s are dead,” I say.

 

Tears fill his eyes, “Eleth would have loved how strong you are, how independant, how you embody life.” He fishes something out of his pocket, a necklace. A glowing midnight blue teardrop suspended on a thin twisted silver chain, “This … was hers. She asked me to pass it to you, once you came of age. It will guide you in the darkness. It will give you Life, in Nothingness.”

 

I take the necklace. It really is beautiful. I look up once more at Calenmai, before putting it on. The effect is immediate. I can feel another power, coil in my stomach, but it feels different. Whereas Chaos is fire, molten lava, this is springtime, love, but also storms and disaster. This is Life. I look into myself, at my  _ Roho, _ and see one spring, with two sources.

 

“Feel it,” my father says, “Feel the life, let it overtake you. Imagine a tide sweeping away the Void.”

 

I raise my hand to the gaping hole that the now missing universe left, and I will Life to flood me. I will myself to exude so much Life that it spills over. It flushes from me in a tsunami tide. I feel the hole start sealing. Life, fighting off the darkness. The Void energy recedes until I can no longer feel it at all. I look up at Calenmai.

 

“Okay … I’ll do it,” I say quietly, “I have to save my home.”

 

A crumpled look of relief crosses his features so briefly, I almost miss it, “Then return. And Await my instructions. We have to start small and build up from there.”

 

“What about Ellatris?”

 

His face darkens, “I will find her, but it will take both of us to kill her and it is a battle we are not likely to survive.”

 

I swallow down the fear at that. If I don’t do this, Sam and Dean will die, to be consumed by the void. I don’t balk. If I do this, I will probably die. If I don’t, the people I love will definitely die. ANd I won’t let that happen. “I will help you.”

 

“Return then,” he says, “I know you’ve been having difficulties world-walking. You must remember, Elvira, follow your heart and your mind. Let them guide you.”

 

“Thank you, Calenmai,” I say.

 

He bows his head, and when he looks up, his eyes are orbs of silver flames. His mouth is set into a grim line. 

 

“One more thing,” he says, “Since you have decided to live amongst the mortals, there are rules you are not immune to. There are certain people you may not kill, else it would throw off the Fate of that world. Killing a person like that could land your precious universe in a state similar to the one you just destroyed. ”

 

“Michael?”

 

He nods, “I stopped you before it was too late, but you must take care. Having your mother’s gift now should help you see more clearly.”

 

“Anything else I should know?”

 

“Do not use the forbidden pathways to walk between worlds,” he says, “They are watched and with Ellatis’s power, she may bleed you dry.” He falls silent, the flames in his eyes flickering down to embers.

 

“Thank you,” I say.

 

“Safe journey, daughter,” he whispers. 

 

Follow my heart, he said. So I do just that, I follow my heart home.


	37. Facing Reality Is Actually Not that Much Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaddup!!! Here's the next chapter! It's kinda filler, kinda fluff! My plan is to post the next chapter on Christmas! Happy holidays to those who celebrate! Love y'all!

**Chapter 37: Facing Reality Is Actually Not that Much Fun**

 

I tumble into the middle of a circle composed of Sam, Dean, and Castiel. Dean’s eyes widen and they lock onto me. I fall straight into his arms. Home. I’m home. He holds me there, his eyes searching my face. Sam stares at me in utter disbelief. Dean does something I completely on’t expect. He pulls me in and kisses me, in front of this room full of people. His straight strong nose brushes mine and my hands go up to his face. My fingers caressing his stubble lined cheeks. When he pulls away, he helps me stand on my feet.

 

“Sam said that Michael … he killed you,” Dean whispers.

 

I clear my throat and say, avoiding his eyes, “He didn’t. I promised I’d come home and … a princess always keeps her promises.”

 

He smiles softly, “I guess they do.”

 

I don’t stop him when he pulls me into him again, crushing his lips to mine. I wrap my arms around him. I can’t kiss him deeply enough, can’t hold him close enough, to satisfy this need. This fear. The need for  _ him. _ The fear that I’ll lose him to whatever Precursor nonsense I’m now embroiled in. One of his hands cradles the back of  my head, his fingers threaded into my hair, holding me there, as if I would ever try to leave.

 

Just then, Booby calls out, “Alright, listen up. You two lovebirds, would ya knock it off? The rest of us are trying to have a drink …” He waits for a sheepish Dean and I to separate and for silence to fall, “We made it. Don’t know much about this place, but it’s a place without Michael, so that’s a turn for the better. I don’t want none of ya going soft on me because we are gonna get ourselves ready, go back home, and set our people free!”

 

People cheer and raise their drinks. Dean leans towards the rest of us.

 

“Been here for five minutes and look who’s already takin over the joint,” he whispers.

 

“While we’re celebrating, let’s not forget our brothers and sisters who didn’t make it,” he says, “They will  _ never  _ be forgotten and we will do right by them.” People cheer again and Bobby continues, “And now a toast to our new brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. Thanks, boys.Welcome to the family!”

 

People call out Sam and Dean’s names. They welcome them. Applaud and cheer. The boys raise their glasses and drink. I’m happy for them. That they got their mom. That these people are safe because of them. Dean throws his free arm around my shoulder. This brief moment of happiness is so bright. I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news. I have to though, this affects more than just me. I squirm out from under Dean’s arm and turn to face them.

 

“We need to talk,” I say, drawing their attention, “All of us.”

 

I see their looks start to go sour, but before they can say anything I walk away. I head into my bedroom which has someone’s bags thrown all over it. God, that blows me. Who stole my fucking room. Sam, Dean, and Cas follow me into the room. I drop onto the bed, burying my head in my hands. I spend a moment of silence trying to figure out what to say, how to tell them all that I now know. Trying to process myself what I know now.

 

I clear my throat, but my voice still comes out raw, “I met my father. In real time, HD …  this time.”

 

Dean looks over me again, worry written into his features, “What happened?”

 

“We talked,” I say, “He showed me …” I shake my head and rub my face, “He showed me a universe. It was dead, or mostly dead, being consumed by the Void.”

 

“The Void? As in the space between universes?” Sam asks.

 

I nod, “The Void is ruled by Ellatris, the Precursor of Nothingness and by my father. Ellatris hates my father and mother and everything they stand for. My father and mother basically gave life to the universes and so Ellatris is … slowly … destroying them. My “fate” was never to just kill off universes willy nilly. It was to remove the ones infected by the Void, the ones that are corrupted by evil. The ones that can’t be saved.”

 

“Who says you have to do anything?” Dean demands gruffly, “I mean, you’re just a girl! You’ve already been through hell. Haven’t you given enough?”

 

“Don’t you get it Dean?” I ask, tears springing to my eyes, “If I don’t kill her, eventually the Void will consume this universe too. It’s not going to stop. She’s not gonna stop. And me, my father, we’re the only ones who can do it.”

 

Castiel looks at me, “How do we know we’re not being betrayed by you?”

 

“If I wanted to destroy this universe, I  would have,” tears are rolling down my cheeks, as I glare up at the damn angel, “You know what I’d like? A _ thank you _ , Castiel. For anything. Because this, my father said this is something  _ neither  _ of us are likely to survive. And I am alone! Bearing a burden you could never hope to understand! You have the weight of  _ one _ world your shoulders. One! I have the weight of thousands upon thousands. Including yours!”

 

I didn’t realize I was yelling until the very end. I bury my face in my hands again, trying desperately to calm down. I hear Dean softly say my name, but I don’t look up. I choke on a sob. Dean kneels down in front of me. His hands gently grip my wrists, and he pulls my hands out of my face. His forest green eyes search me. I know my face is red, and my eyes are puffy, and my nose is starting to run.

 

“Elvira, no matter what you have to do, how you have to do it,” he says gruffly, “You will never be alone.”

 

Sam sits next to me, wrapping one massive arm over my comparatively tiny shoulders, “Elvira, you’re family now. You’ve been with us through some pretty crazy shit and we’re not just gonna leave you out to dry.”

 

Castiel stands there in silence, watching the Winchester boys comfort me, “If Sam and Dean will protect you, then you have mine as well.”

 

Dean leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. Sam squeezes me tighter. Even Castiel, comes over and places a hand on my knee. I close my eyes and just enjoy the warmth, the love, the feeling of belonging. We stay like that for a few minutes. It relaxes me, calms me. When I open my eyes, I clear my throat. Dean pulls back a little.

 

“What’s up, Buttercup?”

 

“Who’s shit’s in my room?”

 

Sam and Dean bust out laughing and Sam says, “Mom. We kinda gave it to her since we thought you were, ya know …”

 

“Mince meat,” I cut it dryly.

 

Dean smirks, “You can always bunk with me, Princess.”

 

I roll my eyes, “I think I’m gonna have to.”

\

“Just please, not everyone in the bunker wants to know how you two spend your nights,” Sam says, a very disgusted look on his face. 

 

“Lighten up, Sammy!” Dean says cheerfully, “Anyways, I can’t control that. Her O face is too perfect to go easy on her.”

 

Oh. My. God. I’m gonna kill him. Right here, right now. I punch Dean straight in the thigh. He winces and looks at me like  _ what the hell was that for? _ I just smirk at him.

 

“Gross Dean!” Sam says, his tone dripping disgust as he practically jumping off the bed, “That was not information I ever needed.”

 

Dean throws his head back and laughs like a little kid. Sam leaves the room, trailed very closely by Castiel. Dean looks up at me with those bedroom eyes and I smile softly. He cups my face in his hand, gently stroking my cheek bones. I sigh softly, leaning into his touch. Nothing matters right now, but that I’m home. 

 

“You look tired Princess,” he whispers.

 

I sigh, “I am.”

 

“Wanna hit the sack?” he says. 

 

I nod. 

 

Dean stands up, taking my my hand and pulling me up with him. He pulls me right into his arms, wrapping me up. I look up at him and smile. He smiles back. He kisses each corner of my mouth, then my nose, then my forehead. This burst of affection from him, while appreciated, is really wild. He’s never been like this before. When he goes in for the real kiss, I melt into him. I know nothing will ever compare to this. This feeling of being with him here, home. 

 

_ I love you _ , I think. But I don’t say that. I can’t. I won’t. We don’t have that sort of luxury. We’re not those sort of people. A small voice in the back of my mind whispers,  _ you’re just making excuses because you’re scared. _ I do my best to ignore it, to enjoy him and what we have together. Even if he doesn’t love me, it’s not nothing. His lips move with mine in perfect sync, soft, gentle, insistent. We break apart breathless.

 

“I missed you, Elvira,” he says quietly.

 

“I missed you too,” I say.

 

We head to bed, Dean lending me a t-shirt to sleep in of his since all of my stuff is in my ex-room, Mary’s room now. I crawl into bed with him. He wraps his arms around me. I scoot closer into his arms him and settle down. Laying here, wreathed in the smell of him -

 

“SON OF A BITCH,” I yell.

 

“What!?” Dean yells, shooting upwards his gun already in his hands.

 

“I LEFT MY IPOD IN APOCALYPSE WORLD!” I yell.

 

He gives me a deadpan look, “We are not going back for that.”

 

I roll my eyes, “I know! I never asked you to! Still blows me!”

 

“Just go to sleep, Princess!” he growls.

 

And so we do. And I have to say, I haven’t slept that damn good in ages. 


	38. Things Going This Suspiciously Well Don’t Usually Last Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, my dears! We're one chapter away from the ending! Love you guys!

**Chapter 38: Things Going This Suspiciously Well Don’t Usually Last Long**

 

People have started to settle in nicely. Everyone’s been assigned rooms, I’ve been moved fully into Dean’s room. I’m sitting on Dean’s bed in nothing but one of his t-shirts practicing with my mother’s powers. They’re a whole different breed than Calenmai’s. Softer, warmer, but more prone to shifting to devastating in a split second. They take a lot more concentration. So far, I’ve been able to do very little beyond making tiny orbs of light. Sealing the Void is the best I’ve got, and I did that mostly with my father’s instruction.

 

The door opens and Dean strides in, shutting it behind him. He gives me a wolfish grin. Kneeling in front of me, he runs his calloused hands over my bare thighs. A soft moan slips from my lips. I look him in the face. A wicked glint sparks in his eyes. 

 

“I’m working, you know,” I say with a smile.

 

“Who said I wasn’t?” he grins again.

 

I roll my eyes, “Oh, are you?”

 

“Yeah, I got a case, Princess,” he says, tapping my thighs. 

 

“Mmm, really?” I say.

 

“Yeah, den of werewolves,” he says.

 

I raise my eyebrows, “Do werewolves usually shack up together?”

 

He shakes his head, “We think it’s a family.”

 

“Cool, I’m tagging along.” I say.

 

“Sounds great, sweet cheeks,” he says, “You can see how us professionals do it.”

 

I pick up the nearest thing, which happens to be one of his dirty socks and throw it at him, “God, you’re such a jackass sometimes.”

 

He dodges the sock and blows me a kiss, “Right back at you, Sweetheart.”

 

He leaves the room with a smile. I throw on some clothes and head out to the kitchen. Most people are in the kitchen, or milling around the library. Sam is prepping a presentation he’s been dying to give in a crash course of the new Earth they’re living in. Dean grins at me, looking me up and down. I’m dressed in black skinny jeans, a distressed t-shirt, and a jacket. Just enough showage to be enticing.

 

“Ready?” he asks.

 

“Let’s rock n’ roll, Pretty Boy,” I say, tossing him a wink.

 

Jack, Castiel, Dean, and I head out to the garage. The boys hop in the Impala, but I wanna take my kind-of stolen bike. I slip the full face helmet on, pull the choke, and start the bike. I  push the choke back in, straddling the bike. I relish the sound of the engine filling the whole garage and the rumble of it beneath me. Dean starts the Impala and flashes me a wicked grin. 

 

“Hey Princess,” he calls over the thunderous sound of the two engines, “Let’s see whose ride is faster.”

 

I rev the engine before leaning over, flipping up the visor, and replying flippantly, “Ooh baby, you don’t know what you just started.”

 

He just grins. The garage door opens and Dean peals out of it like a bat out of hell. How he pulled off that goddamn maneuver, I’ve got no fucking clue. Flipping down my vizor, I shift into first and start off after him. The Impala is little more than a black blot in the distance. As I pick up speed, I shift again. Faster and faster, until I’m flying down the road.  When I catch up with him, I rev the engine before speeding up in front of him. 

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dean yelling in the Impala. Probably cursing my beauty and balls of steel. When I come to the first crossroads, I come to a stop and wait for Dean to pull up beside me. He turns right, but only after flipping me the finger. I roll my eyes and follow him, making sure to stay behind the Impala by a bit.

 

We pull up into a parking lot. Down the hill are a couple empty seeming building built on a gross dirty lake. Dean, Jack, and Cas get out of the Impala. I pull off my helmet, my silver curls falling out and hitting my shoulders. My hair has grown out since I cut it. 

 

Dean strides over to me. He tosses me a pair of binoculars. I use them to scan the buildings at the shoreline of the lake. The building at the far edge catches my attention. A rough looking dude with grimy clothes, is leaning against the building smoking a cigarette. Dean, using his own set of binoculars, seems fixed on them as well.

 

“Those the bad doggos?” I say.

 

“Yep,” Dean says, “I’m gonna give Sam a call and have him come down here.”

 

Dean gets on the phone with Sam, leaving Cas and Jack to our own devices. Cas, in his usual trench coat attire - seriously, would it kill the guy to mix it up a little, looks at me, then Jack. I shift from foot to foot to try and keep the nerves down.

 

“You two are friends, I understand,” Cas says slowly. 

 

“Yes, but she’s family,” Jack replies, “She helped me a lot over …  _ there. _ And we understand each other.”

 

“A very important foundation for friendship,” I note.

 

Dean joins us, putting his arm around me. I look up at him. We stand and chat about movies while we wait for Sam to arrive. Dean keeps trying to guess my favorite director, and I swear to the holy god above he’s guessing dumb ones on purpose. By the time Sam arrives, we’re all pretty antsy from the wait.

 

“All right, gang’s all here,” Dean says, as we walk to Sam.

 

“How many are inside?” Sam asks.

 

Castiel closes his baby blues in concentration, “I can hear three, wait, maybe - maybe four. They’re talking about whether Kylie Jenner would make a good mother. The consensus is no.” I kinda feel like everyone has a look of universal distaste. Like in our group.

 

“Ah, well,” Dean says, pulling his gun out, “That’s why I’m a Khloe man.” He pulls the mag out of his pistol, “All right, we’re talking werewolves, which means …” He gestures to Jack.

 

“Silver bullets,” the kid supplies.

 

“That’s right,” Dean says, popping the magazine back into the gun and cocking it, “So, you know the play, let’s do it.”

 

Five minutes later, we’re kicking some werewolf ass. They didn’t even stand a chance. It feels like everything is so easy now. We have a league of five star hunters, Jack and I. The whole gang’s back together. Sex with Dean has only gotten better. His mom and I are kinda getting along better, at least she’s not making it exceptionally clear that she hates me. It just feels like everything is going a little too well. Like it’s all gonna come crashing down. I mean, there’s the impending doom with my dad’s weird sister/lover person. But … you know … I’m ignoring that for as  _ long _ as possible. Like I do.

 

Back at the bunker, Jack goes to take a nap. Sam and I head to one of the spare rooms to do some sparring. Powers barred of course. I feel like I need to have more than just my powers at my disposal, I need to be able to defend myself in any situation. Where Dean went, I don’t know. 

 

I’m in thick soft cotton shorts and a tank top. My hair is pulled back into a tiny ponytail. Sam smiles at me, as he pushes a table against the wall. He’s in his usual pants and plaid. Sam sets our water bottles on the table and faces off from me. I grin at him.

 

“Ready Elvira?” Sam asks.

 

“I was born-” before I can finish Sam grips my wrist, pushing his thumb into my pressure point, and flips me onto the floor. 

 

A jolt runs through my body as it collides with floor. It takes everything in me to keep my power on a leash, even though I have no idea the effect it will have on humans, or how to operate it on a human. Sam lunges down and I barely roll out of the way to dodge his pin. I launch back to my feet as fast as I can, dodging another blow from Sam. I dance backwards, keeping my face to him, not taking my eyes off him. Sam smirks.

 

“You’re rusty,” he says.

 

I grin back at him, “I haven’t had any reason to practice.”

 

“What? Just because you’re some bigshot god? You think you don’t need to keep it up?” as he’s talking he’s throwing blow after blow, some I dodge, some I deflect, some - well - some almost knock me straight on my ass. 

 

I’m fast, but so is Sam. He’s right, I really am rusty. I can feel the blood pounding in my ears, every drop of sweat on my skin, every muscle that tightens and flexes. Sam swings once, grazing my left cheek, but it was a feint, to hide his real move. He tries to sweep his leg under feet, but I move faster. I almost trip over my own feet though. Sam uses that momentum to knock me onto the floor. Laying on my back, I swing my leg out under Sam’s before he tries to pin me again. With an  _ oof _ , he hits the floor. I scramble over to him. As I’m about to pin his throat to the floor with my forearm, he grabs me and flips me onto my back, holding me down by the shoulders. 

 

“Rusty,” he says, smiling. It’s so good to see him smiling. He hasn’t smiled like this in awhile.

 

I roll my eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, get off me you giraffe.”

 

Sam gets to his feet and walks over to the table. Both of us are sweaty, me probably more so than him. I know I’m really red in the face too, like redder than a schoolgirl talking to her crush. My breath is heavy in my chest, heaving in and out of my lungs. My throat kinda burns too. It feels good in a way. I haven’t used my body for more than hiking in some time. Well, hiking and sex. I smile to myself at the thought. I pick up my water and take a few swigs.

 

Just then, Sam gets a phone call. The relaxed look on his face transforms to something tight and stressed. Like he just saw he’s a kid working minimum wage who just saw his rent bill for the first time. He looks downright panicked. I raise my eyebrows at him.

 

I mouth,  _ what’s wrong. _

 

He mouths back,  _ we have a problem, go get dressed. _

 

I nod at him. I make my way to Dean and I’s room. I change into a pair of jeans, but leave the tank top. I better throw on some more deodorant too. No need to scar everyone’s nasal passages. I yank on my Docs. Now, to find Dean. I leave the room and head out to the main rooms. As I pass Jack’s room, I catch a glimpse of him. I skid to a halt. Dean’s sitting on the bed talking to Jack. I knock on the door frame, then lean up against it. Jack smiles when he sees me.

 

“Hey, kiddos,” I say, smiling softly. 

 

“Hello Elvira,” Jack says, “Are you and Sam done?”

 

“Sam got a call,” I say, stepping into the room more.

 

“Really? Who from?” Dean asks.

 

I shrug, “Didn’t say. Just told me to get dressed. So … here I am.”

 

I sit next to Jack, oh his other side, “How are you doin’?”

 

He shrugs, “I think I’m okay. Talking to Dean really helped.”

 

I smile, “I’m glad. You know I’m always here for you too, Jack. And once I get a new iPod …” I nudge him with my elbow.

 

“A listening party,” Jack says, grinning now, “Like you said.”

 

“Like I said,” I say.

 

Just then, Sam appears in the doorway looking more distressed than when I left him, “Dean?”

 

The smile drops from Dean’s face, “What’s wrong?”


	39. The Biggest OOF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end of the ride lovelies! This is the last chapter of the It Must Be Nice Being Normal Series. Elvira's story continues. I have the first couple chapters of the next part written, which I'm thinking of calling Chaotic Energy (™). Anyways, here you guys go, shout out to anyone who stuck through the whole thing with me. Love you guys.  
> Your Friendly Neighborhood Ghost

**Chapter 39: The Biggest OOF**

  
  


Maggie was killed pretty brutally, like her head was bashed in on the damp rock beside her. I frown and crouch down to get a better look. Holding my hand over her body, I feel for any energies. I catch a faint residual one, hours old. Old enough and unfamiliar enough that I can’t tell who or what it was. Something about it though, I do know. Like a name I’ve heard before, but can’t quite place. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth that I can’t figure out who’s behind it. Damn it all, it’ll come to me, but like  _ after _ I need it.

  
  


“I - I said I’d protect her, and Sam …” Jack says haltingly, like his heart is broken.

  
  


“Jack, stop,” Sam says, “This isn’t your fault.”

  
  


“It’s not, Jack,” I say, standing up.

  
  


“What happened to her?” Dean asks, looking down at the girl’s body.

  
  


“I don’t know,” Mary replies quietly, “Doesn’t look supernatural.”

  
  


“Looks like some son of a bitch beat her until …”

  
  


“I can feel an energy here,” I say, “It’s old though, and I can’t quite place it.”

  
  


Dean nods, “Well, first thing’s first. We gotta talk to her friends. Find out if they knew anything.”

  
  


We all head back to the bunker, Sam and Jack taking Maggie’s body. Dean and I walk back together. Despite his arm wrapped around my shoulders, I can tell his mind is still on the girl. Everyone is pretty quiet. Everything has been going so well. When I thought of road  bumps, I thought like maybe people fighting over the right way to hang toilet paper, or not cleaning up after themselves, not death. I was hoping death would take a holiday for say oh a good long while. 

  
  


“Hey Princess,” Dean says as we get close to the bunker, “Be careful, would ya? Since we don’t know what’s going on here. I know you’re all juiced up, but …”

  
  


“But you’re worried …” I say.

  
  


“Worried? Me? Nah,” Dean says gruffly, “I just - yeah, okay. I’m worried. So sue me.”

  
  


“I’ll be extra careful,” I say, “Just for you.”

  
  


Just as we enter the bunker, I stumble. The world slides alarmingly and I fall heavily into Dean. Everything is spinning, like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl. Dean holds onto me, saying my name over and over. I can see my skin glowing, the pendant hanging between my breasts glowing brightly. 

  
  


“Elvira!” I hear Dean yell.

  
  


“I’m … fine …” I get out.

  
  


The jolt that runs through my body rocks my bones. I’m in the center of a galaxy, Calenmai floating across from me. I blink, looking around me, trying to orient myself. Calenmai’s eyes drag over me, like he’s trying to make sure I’m whole and intact. I press a hand to my temple, trying to steady my mind. Everything is spinning stil, but more slowly.

  
  


“Daughter-,” he starts.

  
  


“Listen, uh, Calenmai … father,” I interrupt him, before he can continue, “You can’t just pull me out of there like that.”

  
  


“I needed to speak with you,” he says, a little taken aback.

  
  


“Well, there’s gotta be another way,” I say.

  
  


“I will find one,” he says, “But this is urgent.”

  
  


I sigh, “Alright, spit it out.”

  
  


“Ellatris is on the hunt for you,” he says.

  
  


“I thought she didn’t know I existed,” I shoot back, alarm and dread filling my body, my mind, everything. If she knows where I am, she can hurt the people I love. I won’t let that fucking happen.

  
  


“She didn’t,” he says, “But when you held that rift open between those two worlds, she felt your power from the Void.”

  
  


I swallow, “Will she come for me?”

  
  


“I intend to lead her away,” he says, “And convince her that she will never find you, that you are travelling from universe to universe, constantly moving, never staying too long.”

  
  


I nod, “Thank you, father. And thank you for the warning.”

  
  


“Be careful,” he says.

  
  


I nod. And then I’m back in the bunker. Stumbling into the middle of Cas, Dean, and Michael. Jesus Christ. How long have I been gone!? I fucking hate the way time flows when I’m travelling between worlds. It has no rhyme or rhythm. Hell, if I had some more training, I could probably choose what time I landed in a universe. I don’t have the training though. God, gotta add that to my list of things to talk to Calenmai about.  Still, I leave them alone for a few hours and they’re up to their ears in angelic douchery. I hold my hand out, throwing my power at Michael, pinning him against the wall. 

  
  


“Elvira! Wait!” Dean yells.

  
  


“What?” I growl.

  
  


“Yes, Michael!” Dean yells, “I said yes you sonuvabitch.”

  
  


There’s a flash of blinding white light. And Michael, I watch as he steps out of his vessel, and into Dean. I scream Dean’s name. No. No. This can’t be happening. I should have been here. I should have stopped it. Then it hits me. I probably couldn’t have. Whatever has Dean doing  _ this _ , has to be real big, real bad. I probably couldn’t kill it because of my stupid stupid rules. I look at Dean, the light gone. He looks the same as ever, but I can feel Michael. Hell, I can almost see him in the military set of Dean’s shoulders.

  
  


“Elvira, I had to,” Dean says, “Lucifer, he’s got Jack and Sam. And he’s mega charged.”

  
  


Lucifer, that’s whose energy I was feeling around Maggie. He murdered her. Rage has my blood boiling, my skin glowing with power. I’m gonna shred his soul. Damn the rules to hell. 

  
  


“Son of bitch,” I mutter.

  
  


“Where’d you go?” he asks.

  
  


“No, time to explain,” I say, “If Lucifer has Jack and Sam, we have to save them.”

  
  


Dean nods. Then he disappears. It takes me less than five minutes to locate the beacon of energy that’s probably Lucifer. He’s powerful now. More powerful than even Jack. And Jack, I don’t even feel him at all. That alone has me in full blown panic mode. If Lucifer so much as laid a finger on him, he’s dead. I will set fire to him, watch him burn, and warm my hands in the flames.

  
  


I’ve never done this before, but I focus my power. Teleport. I focus on the beacon of power. I will myself to  _ be _ there. I throw my desire to save them, my fear of failure into it. And I am. I’m in the middle of an empty church. In any other situation, I might comment on the beauty of it. The stained glass windows. The floor. Now though, my only focus is on a bleeding Jack and relatively uncathed Sam. 

  
  


I run to them, dropping to the floor and sliding, right as Lucifer throws an explosion of power at me. I stand up and pull Jack into my arms. There is no power beyond his soul left in him. Jack, my sweet sweet boy. What did he do to you? I should have been here. I should have protected him.

  
  


“Well, hello there,” Lucifer says.

 

“If you so much as breathe on them, I will melt you,” I growl.

  
  


“Oohoo, little bit of a spitfire, are we?” Lucifer chuckles, “No wonder Dean wants to tap that ass.”

  
  


“Dean-” I start.

  
  


Then he appears. I don’t know how I got here before him, maybe because I teleported, maybe because Michael had to physically fly. The entire church is filled with light, bright white light. Sam and Jack shield their eyes, but I don’t. I look right at him. At the wings spread like a shadow against the light. I can see Michael’s true face beneath Dean’s. I take a good long look as a reminder. A reminder of what happens when I’m not here. A reminder that I should have saved him.

  
  


“Dean,” Sam breathes.

 

\

“You let my brother in,” Lucifer says, walking over to him.

  
  


“Well, turns out, he and I have something in common,” Dean says almost cheerily, but then his tone shifts darkly, “We both wanna gut your ass.”

  
  


Lucifer rushes Dean. Dean kicks him backwards into pew, it bursting into a thousand wooden shards. As Lucifer is picking himself up, Dean marches towards him, whipping out the archangel blade. It’s hard to keep track of their movements until Lucifer knocks the angel blade out of Dean’s hand. I scream his name. But I can’t get involved. I know if I get involved, I’ll kill him. But the rules. The rules.

  
  


Lucifer tosses Dean across the room. The two throw themselves at each other, taking off into the air. Again Lucifer kicks Dean into the wall. Dean braces himself against the wall, and throws himself back at Lucifer. Lucifer knocks him straight in the face. Dean falls backwards. I look to the floor for the blade. It’s closest to Sam. And I’m not willing to take my hands off Jack right now.

  
  


“Sam! The blade!” I yell. 

  
  


He nods, lunges for the blade, yells Dean’s name, and throws it towards him. Right as Lucifer presses his hand to Dean’s forehead to smite him, he catches the blade and drives it hilt deep into Lucifer’s side. Light so bright it makes everyone look away, streams from Lucifer’s eyes as Dean falls to the ground. I run towards Dean and get him to his feet as Lucifer’s body hits the ground.

 

Jack, bleeding from his mouth, stumbles over. His eyes run over his father’s body. “Is he …?”

  
  


“He … He’s dead,” Sam chokes out, sounding downright joyful.

  
  


“Holy crap!” Dean says with awe, looking down at himself.

  
  


“You did it!” Sam says.

  
  


Dean looks at all of us, smiling. Looking like he’s on top of the world. “No, no  we did it! We did it.”

  
  


We all exchange smiles. Somehow, somehow we’ve made it out of this whole and intact. We beat all odds. It’s almost enough to make me forget the news from my father. Almost, but not quite. But then, Dean groans, drops to his knees. And I know what’s coming. And I know I can’t stop it. 

  
  


“Dean!” Sam yells.

  
  


Dean’s voice is strained as he yells, “We had a deal!” He straightens up and there’s a new spark in his eyes. Sam realizes what happened.

  
  


“Michael,” Sam breathes.

  
  


I’m frozen, absolutely frozen. I can’t save him. I can’t save him. I can’t save him. That’s all I can think about. I look at him, into his eyes. Dean, please, just hold on. I’m gonna figure out a way to get him out of you. Even if it kills me. I just need him to hold on. Dean, please. I love you. I love you. I love you. I can’t say it. I should say it, but I can’t. What if this is the last time I ever see him? He should know. But also, now consider this, what if he doesn’t want to know how you feel or doesn’t feel the same? Yeah, no. I shouldn't say it. Maybe.

  
  


_ I love you. _

  
  


Dean - Michael, it’s Michael - looks around, taking it all in. He looks right at Sam.

  
  


_ I love you. _

  
  


“Thanks for the suit,” Michael says, his mouth flicking into a small wicked smile. 

  
  


_ I love you. _

  
  


He strides right over to me, his eyes dragging down my body in a predatory way. Dean - goddammit, Michael - grabs my hand and presses his mouth to it. His lips are cold, robotic, so unlike Dean. His eyes meet mine. He leans over to me and whispers in my ear, “I know what you are. I know you can’t touch me.” It’s Dean’s voice, but colder, and it shatters,  _ shatters _ , something inside me. And then he’s gone. He’s just gone. And Dean’s gone. I drop to my knees. I should have been better, more prepared. I should have done better.

  
  


“I love you,” it comes out of my mouth as a sob, clawing its way out of my throat.

  
  


_ Too little, too late. _


End file.
